Bonds Unbroken
by CoruscantExpat
Summary: An Exile in exile no longer - When Meetra Surik is dragged out of isolation, she must decide to defend the ideals of those who cast her out, or take her vengeance and aid in the Republic's destruction. A retelling of Star Wars: Kotor: The Sith Lords, with some canon-divergence to reflect the choice-based narrative and more emphasis on an Exile/Atton romance. *Updates Sundays 3pm
1. Then

Jazala Paldos' initial impression of Belsavis was... less than positive.

She quickened her pace to keep her fellow petty officers in sight. The thick snow slowed their steps, but visibility was low enough that losing track of her squad was a reality. Jazala trudged forward, squinting through the faceplate of her helmet. Lieutenant Sallon had ensured the squad their target, one of the rare temperate zones dotting the ice planet, was less than fifty klicks from the shuttle's landing zone, but Jazala hadn't seen any signs of the weather changing. If anything, it had worsened, the snowfall slowly becoming a snowstorm. If they didn't reach the temperate zone soon, there was a chance they could be forced to turn back to the shuttle and wait for conditions to improve, or worse, find themselves trapped in a blizzard with little cover besides their winter gear.

The winter camouflage-clad figure to her right staggered, tripping over something beneath the snow or the shin-high drifts themselves, and fell to one knee with a grunt. Jazala swung out of formation long enough to put a hand under the officer's arm and help him to his feet, returning to her position as smoothly as the snow allowed. Her comrade hurried to catch up and turned his dark-tinted faceplate toward her, wrapped head-tails swinging as he nodded. His thickly accented Basic was tinny through the microphone in his helmet. "Thanks, Jaz."

She gave him a playful two-fingered salute with the hand not holding a blaster rifle. "Remind me never to take you dancing, Deek. Two left feet so bad you can't even walk straight." Though she was unable to see through his faceplate, Jezala could imagine the Twi'lek's golden face and lopsided smile, an expression he wore often. Dekar Sana was her first and closest friend since being assigned aboard the _Harbinger_ a year ago. Perpetually cheerful, aggressively friendly, and seemingly laconic to a fault off duty, Dekar was also one of the squad's most proficient marksmen and the most talented hand-to-hand combatant among them, likely due to a rough childhood on Ryloth. A kind heart housed in a deadly machine.

Dekar returned the salute, flicking a lekku in her direction to further mock her. "You know you'd never be able to handle these moves." He kicked out at the nearest snowdrift. "It's all this white druk. We don't have it on Ryloth." Jazala had grown up on Coruscant where it did snow and she still had to agree with him. The snow on Belsavis made winter on her home planet look like a mildly chilly afternoon. Dekar continued to grouse at the snow, as if he could clear his path forward with the hot air accompanying his complaints. "This VIP had better be worth it. We could have been in the cantina by now, a pint of juma juice in each hand." He mimed holding a glass in his free hand and raised his arm above his head with a flourish.

Jazala chuckled, but, again, it was hard to disagree with her friend. The _Harbinger_ had been bound for Telos and its orbiting Citadel Station, where the crew had expected to spend a week on leave while the ship was refueled and repaired, but Captain Donshe had announced the diversion to Belsavis two solar days ago, citing orders from on high. There was scuttlebutt among the enlisted crew that the order came from an admiral, but the commissioned officers had been tight-lipped about the details. Sallon had only mentioned the squad was here to pick up an "informant" for the Republic on the shuttle ride down.

As if her thoughts were a summons, Sallon's voice cut in over the communicator, his gruff Alderaanian-accented Basic commanding the squad's attention. "Target's in sight. Tighten up formation and pick up the pace, but no aggressive moves. These are our people here." Dekar turned his head toward Jazala and she could almost see the raised eyebrow through the tinted faceplate. Sallon had mentioned that there was a Republic scientific outpost here, but nothing more than that. She shrugged and squinted ahead, barely making out Sallon's back at the head of the formation. Past him, trees loomed in the distance; dark indistinct shapes against the increasingly heavy snowfall - the first sign of life Jazala had seen since the shuttle landed. She even thought it felt a little warmer now - marginally, but still noticeable. She gestured at Dekar and the two quickened their pace to match the other officers.

Twenty minutes of sluggish sprinting later, the squad arrived at the temperate zone and Jazala realized how any part of Belsavis' frozen surface could be hospitable. Several geothermal vents marred the ground, spewing enough hot air to raise the temperature substantially. Snow continued to fall, but melted on contact with the short scrub covering the ground. Several temporary plast-cast structures were scattered around a small clearing formed by the trees and two vents; a handful of people in light winter gear milled around between the buildings, freezing as they noticed the squad approaching. One of the figures, a human, caught a shorter duros and leaned toward her, then the duros darted into the largest structure. Sallon gestured for the squad to halt and slung his blaster rifle across his shoulders, reaching up to release the clamps of his helmet and remove it. The other officers followed suit. Jazala attached her helmet to her belt and fished a tie out of one of her vest pockets, finger-combing her dark curls into a bun and securing it in place. Next to her, Dekar pulled his helmet free, but left his lekku covered, and turned a circle, taking in their surroundings. His movements were unhurried, but his green eyes analyzed everything. "Well, I guess I can see why someone would want to set up out here." He crouched next to one of the vents and put a hand out toward it, immediately snatching it back with a hiss.

Jazala laughed, reaching out to inspect his hand. "What did you expect, dummy?" Dekar had the sense to look sheepish, giving one of his lekku a self-conscious scratch. His glove was still warm to the touch, but appeared to be undamaged. Jazala released him and wagged a finger. "No touching." He rolled his eyes and bumped her with his shoulder, an action she copied with just a hint more force. Before Dekar could retaliate, the duros reappeared from the large structure, another human man following her. His eyes widened as he took in the armed soldiers, but he took Sallon's hand with little hesitation when the former held it out.

Sallon, ever the diplomat, kickstarted the exchange. "I apologize for the intrusion, Dr...?"

"Sotaris, Kyne Sotaris." Jazala's ears pricked at the familiar Coruscant accent. He glanced over the rest of the squad again before returning focus to Sallon. "I'm sorry, but we weren't expecting the Republic to send troops for..." He trailed off into a tense silence. Jazala felt for him; having a group of Republic soldiers descend unannounced probably wasn't the way Sotaris had expected his day to go.

Sallon resumed control over the conversation. "We're not here to disrupt your work, Dr. Sotaris. Republic Command is seeking an individual associated with an ongoing investigation, and there have been reports that she has taken shelter here at your project." Sotaris blinked owlishly at him, causing Jazala to chuckle inwardly. Sallon never was good with civilians. The lieutenant cleared his throat, seeming to realize the awkward approach, and started again. "Sorry. I'm Lieutenant Carrus Sallon, of the _Harbinger_. We've been sent to retrieve a witness for questioning, a woman, and we believe she may be here."

Realization dawned on Sotaris' face, though he quickly suppressed it, and he exchanged a glance with the duros. She muttered something under her breath, too quick for Jazala to catch, and Sotaris turned back to the lieutenant. "Is she... in any kind of trouble?" Jazala tensed, sensing rather than seeing Dekar do the same at her side. An inter-Republic fight would do nothing for either side, but if the scuttlebutt was accurate, there was no backing out of this until the squad had retrieved their target.

None of this was lost on Sallon, and, for once, he went for the more tactful route. "Not to my knowledge. However, the Republic believes she has invaluable, and time-sensitive, information." When Sotaris continued to hesitate, the lieutenant changed tack. "Dr. Sotaris... Kyne. I can't tell you why the Republic wants to question her, but I can promise that she won't be harmed."

The duros chattered at Sotaris, but he cut her off gently by putting a hand on her shoulder. He eyed Sallon for a long moment, then leaned down to the duros and murmured something, squeezing her shoulder gently. The duros protested, but Sotaris shook his head and patted her once before releasing her. "Retrieve our guest, please." She hesitated, but ducked back into the plast-cast building. He glanced back at Sotaris, arms crossed and mouth a tense line. "She showed up a week ago - apparently, she rode in on the last supply ship - and offered to help out with the project. She's a drifter, Lieutenant Sallon. I don't think she'll have the information you're looking for."

"That'll be for Command to decide," Sallon replied, his stiff formality returning. Sotaris' mouth thinned even further at the lieutenant's tone. Jazala fidgeted with a loose coil of hair and glanced sideways at Dekar. The twi'lek's eyes were hard and his stance was fluid, ready to move. She flashed a quick hand signal at him and he nodded, forcing himself to relax a little. The duros reemerged, looking as irritated as her boss, with a slender woman following her. Chin-length brown hair, bangs parted to the right; blue-gray eyes; fair-skinned; indeterminate age anywhere from mid-twenties to late thirties: in appearance, the woman was conventionally pretty, but no more so than many others in the Republic. Though she dressed in the same light outerwear the research crew wore, Jazala immediately noticed the difference between them and their guest. The way she carried herself, the way she moved, was too fluid, too controlled; the woman had been trained to fight, though she was somewhat out of practice. A bit too much weight behind her steps, a slight stiffness in her shoulders. Regardless, Jazala recognized the woman's walk from her childhood.

As Sallon moved forward to greet the woman, Jazala leaned toward Dekar. "I think she's a Jedi."

Dekar gave her a sideways glance. "There aren't any more Jedi, Jaz. Besides, she doesn't have a lightsaber. Have you ever seen a Jedi without a lightsaber?"

Jazala glanced at the woman's waist reflexively. Dekar was right; the few times her father had taken her on trips past the temple on Coruscant, Jazala had never seen a Jedi without their signature weapon. However, she was sure she was right, too; every Jedi she'd ever seen moved like woman before them. Sallon extended a hand to her as perfunctorily as he had to Sotaris. "Lieutenant Carrus Sallon, ma'am, of the _Harbinger_."

The woman eyed Sallon's hand for a moment, one side of her mouth curving up in a small smile, before shaking it once. "A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant." Jazala frowned, unable to peg her accent. Different from hers or Sotaris', so not Coruscant, but somewhere similar. "I hear you're looking for me."

"Ah, yes, ma'am. Your presence has been... requested at Republic Command." The woman raised an eyebrow, small smile still in place, and Sallon, flustered, continued. "You may have information crucial to an on-going investigation."

"May I ask which one?"

"That's, uh, that's classified, ma'am."

"Oh, so they haven't told you." Sallon stared at her, mouth slightly agape. "Well, do I have a choice in this, or is less a request and more an order?"

Sallon cleared his throat, and Jazala struggled to hide her amusement. Dekar elbowed her surreptitiously, but she could see the effort he was making to suppress his own mirth. "Well, uh, ma'am, my - our orders are to resume course to Telos... with you on board, so... I suppose it is less of a request."

The woman chuckled once and Jazala was struck by how mirthless it sounded. "They don't call, they don't write, but I'm expected to drop everything at their whim. I see the Republic hasn't changed." Sallon, apparently having regained his composure, kept his expression carefully blank, but Jazala could see the unease on Dekar and the rest of their squad's faces, an expression she was sure was mirrored on her own. The woman glanced around at them, her lop-sided smile widening. Evidently, she found their concern amusing. "Very well. I suppose I'm still a citizen of the Republic at least." She turned to Sotaris. "Well, I guess this is where I leave you, Kyne. Thank you for your hospitality, and I hope to see you again."

Sotaris gave her a sad smile. "We were happy to have you with us. I'm sure the Republic will treat you well - " He paused and shot a sharp glare at Sotaris "- and perhaps they will be so kind as to return you when this is over." The two shook hands, and the woman turned back to Sallon. "Well, Lieutenant, I suppose I'm all yours. Lead the way and I'll follow you back to civilized space."

"Great. Command diverted us from leave to pick up a crazy drifter," Dekar murmured, earning himself one of Jazala's elbows in his ribs. However, her heart wasn't entirely in it; there was something... "off" about the woman, whether she was a Jedi or not. Dekar scratched one of his lekku again. "All I'm saying is that my bunk is staying locked until we drop her off on Telos."

"Paldos!" Jazala's head snapped up at Sallon's bark. "You'll be our guest's escort while she's with us. Keep her close on the way back to the shuttle and show her to her quarters on the ship." He raised his arm, encompassing the entire squad with a gesture. "Let's move out!" The squad began replacing helmets and returning to formation, and Dekar gave Jazala a pitying look before sliding his own helmet over his headtails and joining the rest. Jazala watched him go, cursing his luck, and pulled the tie free of her curls, returning it to its pocket and detaching her helmet from her belt.

"Are you on his bad side?" Jazla started and turned quickly to find the strange woman standing in front of her. She took a step back, wry smile twisting up one side of her mouth again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Just wondering if the lieutenant has it out for you, or if you just have the worst luck." Now that the woman standing in front of her, Jazala was sure her earlier assumption had been correct. The fair face was virtually unlined, but there was depth behind the blue eyes; she had only ever seen such a combination of agelessness and wisdom on the Jedi outside the temple.

Jazala straightened, refusing to be intimidated by a maybe-Jedi. "Or he believes I'm qualified for the job."

The woman laughed, a real one this time. "That's a good answer." She pulled a pair of tinted goggles out of the pocket of her jacket and slipped them over her head, hesitating before she pulled them over her eyes. "By the way, I didn't catch your name, unless you prefer your last one being barked at you by two people rather than one."

Jazala hesitated, unsure why she did so. Then she slid her helmet over her head and held her hand out. "Petty Officer Jazala Paldos, at your service."

The woman grinned, pulled her goggles down, and shook Jazala's hand enthusiastically. "Meetra Surik. It's nice to meet you, Jazala."

* * *

_Nota Bene_

\- With a few exceptions, all characters belong to Lucas Arts/Bioware/Obsidian/EA (bases covered due to murky ownership); no monetary gain is made from this story. Some dialogue is taken from in-game, but effort is/will be made to keep this to a minimum.

\- I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! Comments/critiques/constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.


	2. Now

_All around her, the jungles of Dxun burned._

_The screams of the dying rang out from every direction, but Meetra couldn't see anyone through the thick smoke. She clutched her lightsaber, the outline of the hilt imprinting itself into her palm and fingers, and lifted it, struggling to see through the blackness by the cyan light from both blades. An explosion sounded, terrifyingly near, but no debris, no flames; nothing broke through the roiling smoke. A woman screamed directly behind her, but when Meetra whirled, there was nothing but black. Barked Mando'a clashed with panicked Basic in the distance, the words drowned out by the sounds of war. Meetra drew her lightsaber closer to her, squeezing the hilt with both hands now. She tried to call out, to raise her regiment or anyone else nearby, but her voice died in her throat._

_There was another explosion, at once massive and distant, and the bottom fell out of the world._

_The smoke vanished, revealing a dead planet, the surface scorched and decimated. Ash choked the air now, thick and suffocating, and an artificial storm raged in the outer atmosphere. There was a sound, countless beings shrieking in a horrible concert of agony, but just as quickly as it came, it cut off, leaving a deafening silence. The impact of the explosion drove Meetra to her knees and sent her lightsaber clattering away. Above her, hundreds of ships, Republic and Mandalorian alike, shuddered violently, pulled down toward the planet. Several shattered, gravity tearing at them from a million different directions. Meetra stared up at the carnage, unable to move; her limbs refused to obey her command. A flutter of motion caught her attention and she managed to turn her head far enough to see two figures standing directly beneath the falling ships. The taller one, a man with a shaved and tattooed head, continued staring at the massacre in the sky, but the other figure, whose rippling robes had drawn Meetra's eye, turned toward her, revealing a stylized mask. The figure didn't speak, but Meetra was chilled to her core. Though she couldn't see the eyes behind the mask, she somehow knew they were locked with hers. Unable to bear the tension coupled with the death and destruction around her, Meetra tried to scream, but no sound came out. The figure continued to stare as the world continued to end, and there was nothing she could do about it. She screamed again, soundlessly, every part of her straining to escape the hell she was trapped in._

_Then, above the howling of the storm and the shrieking of the crumpling ships, came a single voice, a lifeline that Meetra seized and clung to:_ "Awaken."

Meetra catapulted back to consciousness, colliding with a clear wall and nearly choking on a mouthful of liquid. Panicking, she tried to reel backward, but only succeeded in floating away from the barrier. Realizing she was able to breath despite the water in her mouth, she took several deep breaths, reaching for the old exercises to get her bearings. Gradually, her vision focused, revealing the reason for the clear barrier as well as why she wasn't drowning: a kolto tank. The aerated liquid flowing in and out of her lungs was an uncomfortable feeling, but not an unfamiliar one; she'd spent her fair share of time in tanks exactly like this one during the war.

Meetra squinted through the glass, but couldn't make anything out through the kolto and her own cloudy vision. She tried to bang on the glass, but only succeeded in a few weak taps. Her muscles felt slow and heavy, weighted down further by the resistance of the liquid. Her head felt fuzzy, like an invisible film of cotton was wrapped around it.

A quiet suction sound started up from somewhere beneath her, but now that the adrenaline from her dream was beginning to wear off, Meetra found it hard to be concerned about the noise. It wasn't until she noticed she was sinking that she realized it was the tank's drains, pulling the kolto out in preparation for her release. Her feet touched the bottom of the tank, but her legs refused to support her weight and buckled, sending her to her knees. She leaned against the tank wall and watched the liquid level drop, feeling more exhausted than she had in ten years.

As the kolto drained past her head, her body took over and Meetra convulsed as her lungs and stomach struggled to expel the excess liquid. When the spasms dwindled to a few hacking coughs, she pushed herself away from the wall of the tank and tried to stand. Her knees gave way immediately and she crashed to the floor, barely catching herself in time to avoid slamming face first into the tank's metal bottom. A wheeze escaped her as she struggled to push herself to her hands and knees, weaving drunkenly as she crawled away from the tank. Her vision faded in and out, tinting the floor in front of her white, then gray, then black before repeating the cycle. She had no idea how far she'd gotten before she collapsed again, sinking down fully to meet the cold tiles.

When Meetra returned to consciousness a second time, more of her faculties seemed to return with her. Her head was no longer wrapped in wool and while she still felt weak, she was able to push herself up into a sitting position with little more than the usual effort. She plucked at her form-fitting undergarment and found it dry; the tiles beneath her were dry as well. Out for some time, then. She struggled to her feet, legs shaking but supporting her weight, and took in her surroundings. Sterile white tile and chrome, the soft hum of myriad electronics, and the inexplicable lack of odor: a medical facility, or at least a wing. She ran a hand through her hair, absently patting it back into its usual style while she searched her memory. She recalled Belsavis, the arrival of Sallon's unit, and the _Harbinger_; her last clear memories were of her quarters aboard the ship, but after that... Meetra bit her lip. It wasn't like her memory was blank; she could recall blurry images, but they were too warped to interpret. She sighed, shook her head, glanced over her shoulder, and nearly tripped over her own feet as she stumbled backward.

There were four other kolto tanks in the room, two on each side of hers, and each held an occupant. No, a body. Four human men floated in the kolto, all dressed in blue and gold uniforms and all extremely dead. A cold weight settled in Meetra's stomach and she backed out of the room, turning away as the door slid shut after her. She leaned against the wall opposite and took a few deep breaths to settle herself. "Hello?" Her voice, raspy and cracked, bounced back at her weakly from walls of the long hallway. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?" No answer. She started down the hall, one hand braced against the wall for support, until she spotted a terminal through the window of a side room. She ducked in and leaned against the console, bringing up the main commands with a few keystrokes. The local cameras revealed nothing but another view of the horrifying tableau in the kolto tanks and two corpses housed in the morgue. A scan of the last patient treatment logs revealed that a fatal amount of sedatives had been injected into the kolto tanks, killing the other four patients, but putting Meetra into a catatonic state. She frowned, the chill in her stomach growing heavier. Whoever administered the medication had to have known her past, something that didn't sit too well after running away from it for the last decade.

Meetra backed out to the command screen again and opened up a file containing several vidlogs, the earliest from three days prior. She pulled it up and a hologram of a human woman's torso materialized above the terminal's screen. Even with the holo's lack of color, Meetra recognized the woman's uniform as the same as the ones on the dead men in the kolto tanks. The recording began to speak, starting mid-sentence. "-_ still examining the survivors of the damaged freighter - Looks like it goes by the name of the _Ebon Hawk_. Only one survivor, placed in the kolto tank for recovery. The carbon scoring on the vessel suggests it was in a battle, but no indication of who fired on it... couldn't get much from the navicomputer. I'm surprised the ship was able to make it inside the Peragus asteroid field without the asteroid drift charts._" Meetra latched on to the name; she didn't recognize it, but at least she had some useful information now. "_Aside from the lone survivor, we recovered an old woman, no life signs. There was also a protocol droid and an utility droid on board - both sent down to maintenance while security sorts through the other items on the ship. It looks like the utility droid - a T3 unit - was able to get the ship working enough to get to the colony. We're prepared to -_ " The holo dissolved into static, vanishing from above the monitor.

"_Ebon Hawk_. Not the _Harbinger_," Meetra murmured to herself. The name wasn't familiar and she had no memory of switching ships. If she hadn't come here on the Harbinger, then what had happened to it? She watched the remaining two logs, from a day previous and the day before that respectively, but didn't learn anything about the Republic vessel. However, other questions were answered. She was in the medical bay of a mining facility, one that had been experiencing a rather high accident rate over the last couple of days, and the miners had at least guessed her former Jedi status. The last holo had revealed that an explosion had sent the entire facility into lockdown, explaining the absence of any employees. She unlocked the morgue from the terminal and made her way slowly across the hall into the chilled room. Immediately to her left was the body of an elderly woman, undoubtedly the one mentioned in the earliest log. Her face was well-lined, indicating the woman had been of advanced age, but there was an elegance to it, even in death. This, coupled with the drab brown robes the old woman was dressed in, unsettled Meetra. The corpse reminded her far too much of the older masters. She turned away toward a second body farther in the morgue, this one a deceased miner. Meetra gingerly rifled through the pockets of his uniform, hoping to find something useful. "Sorry, friend." She fished a hand-held plasma torch from the miner's belt and weighed it in her hand, flipping it once and catching it deftly. Not good for a weapon, but useful for getting through locked doors.

There was a soft rustling of cloth and Meetra glanced up to see the old woman rising from her slab. She froze, plasma torch gripped tightly in one hand, and the old woman's mouth curved up into a smirk. She had drawn the hood of her robes down, but Meetra could just see her opaque and milky eyes beneath the edge. When the woman spoke, her voice was soft and slightly raspy, colored through with a Coruscant accent - and surprisingly familiar. "Find what you were looking for amongst the dead?"

"Your voice - I heard it in the kolto tank," Meetra blurted, and the old woman's smirk deepened. "I thought you were dead."

"Nothing quite so final, though closer than I'd like." The calm formality in her voice was both comforting and unnerving. "I had hoped someone would hear. I slept too long here and could not wake up." She tilted her head, sightless eyes managing to lock with Meetra's. "Perhaps it was that I unconsciously called out, and your mind was a willing one... Or, perhaps you are trained for such things?" Her tone was not one of question.

Meetra tensed at the veiled insinuation. She ignored the query in favor of her own, careful to keep her voice free of hostility. "So you can touch minds... and feign death. Useful abilities." The old woman raised an eyebrow, but the sideways smile remained. "Who are you?"

The woman chuckled, as if the question were a mildly entertaining anecdote. "My name is Kreia, and I am your rescuer - as you are mine. Do you recall what happened?"

"No." There was nothing to be gained from lying to Kreia, especially if she could provide Meetra with answers. "The last thing I remember is being aboard the _Harbinger_, a Republic ship bound for Telos. You said you rescued me. What happened to the _Harbinger_?"

"Your ship was attacked." Though still soft-spoken, Kreia delivered the news with all the gentleness of a club. "You were the only survivor." The cold weight dissolved in Meetra's stomach, sending a horrified numbness flooding through her. The image of a dark curly-haired woman and a golden-skinned twi'lek flashed in front of her eyes, nearly distracting her from the old woman's follow-up. "A result of your Jedi training, no doubt."

Meetra's eyes narrowed, suspicion warring with her grief. She pushed the latter down, concentrating on what was more helpful in the moment. "You're mistaken. I'm not a Jedi."

"I never said that you are." Kreia waved a hand in a gesture that fully encompassed the younger woman. "However, your walk, your stance tells me that, whatever you consider yourself now, you were a Jedi. Your walk is heavy, like you are carrying something that weighs you down."

"You see well for a blind woman."

"If you see only with your eyes, you will miss much." Meetra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Kreia was starting to sound like her former masters as well as resemble them. "Enough of this - keep your past and let us focus on the now. I was removed from the world while I slept, so I cannot help you with events leading to our arrival, but the _Ebon Hawk_, the ship we arrived on, must still be in this place. We should recover it and leave."

Kreia's voice remained level, but Meetra sensed a new urgency behind the old woman's words. "Why the hurry? This facility is in lockdown. I'm not even sure there's anyone here besides us."

The smirk finally vanished from Kreia's face, replaced with faint annoyance. "Our attackers found us once, and I fear they will not give up so easily. They will find us easy prey without transport, information, and weapons."

"Are you... nervous? Is something wrong?"

"You said it yourself; you are not sure if we are the only ones here." Kreia turned toward the open door as if peering down the hallway. "Even as I slept, I felt much unrest here - I saw strange visions, minds clouded with fear - now, everything feels terribly silent." She glanced back over her shoulder, blind eyes effortlessly finding Meetra's. "If you wish to find out as much as you can about this place, I would do it quickly. I fear we will need to depart as suddenly as we arrived."

The thought rattled Meetra and she remembered the miners floating in their kolto tanks. "There were other patients in the medical bay. They were killed by a lethal dose of sedatives. Do you know anything about that?"

"I don't. Why did they spare you?"

"They... didn't. I received the same dose."

Kreia was silent for a moment as she digested the information. "A Jedi trance could protect one from such poisons -" She held up a hand as Meetra opened her mouth, "Your current status does not change the origin of your abilities; you learned them as a Jedi, therefore they are the abilities of a Jedi. More to the point, there is a chance the sedatives may have been intended to keep you unconscious for some time." She paused, brows furrowing. "It would prove lethal to those not trained in such techniques, however... most curious." She turned abruptly and moved toward the open door. "Come. The sooner we are off, the more distance we can put between us and our pursuers."

"Wait - wait a second." Meetra reached out to grab Kreia's sleeve, but thought better of it and drew her hand back as the old woman turned back toward her. "There's got to be someone left alive around here; if not here in the medical bay, then somewhere else in the facility. If there is, we have to find them."

"Why?"

Meetra blinked owlishly at her. "I... 'Why?'"

"Yes. Why should you risk your life, let alone mine, to rescue some useless miners?" Kreia asked, speaking the last word like it left a bad taste in her mouth. "One of them might even be the culprit who poisoned you."

"That's... a possibility," Meetra admitted, and it was one that wasn't lost on her, "but I won't leave anyone behind. The logs I saw classified the _Ebon Hawk_ as a freighter. That gives us plenty of room for other survivors." Her explanation was met with silence, but she had the faint sense that Kreia disapproved. She shrugged, unwilling to abandon the miners to their fate without a rescue attempt. "I just can't let them die."

The old woman's smug half-smile was back. "A Jedi's life is self-sacrifice."

Meetra's lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. "It's the right thing to do." She brushed past Kreia and stalked out into the hallway. "You can stay here if you're so worried about your safety. I'll return to make sure you're alright, with any survivors I find."

"Then I leave you to the exploration of this place. I will remain here and attempt to center myself." Kreia crossed to the slab she had previously occupied and settled herself down on it. She looked back to Meetra and arched an eyebrow. "You may wish to extend your search to some clothes... if only for proper impressions."

Glancing down at herself, Meetra had to agree with her. The medical undergarment covered enough to avoid social impropriety, but it was thin, so as to allow kolto through the fibers, and there was a general lack of pants. "I'll keep an eye out. Stay safe, Kreia." The morgue door slid shut behind her as she moved further down the hall, heading opposite from the med bay.

In the morgue, Kreia folded her legs beneath her, the movement graceful despite her age, and focused herself, reaching out with her thoughts to follow Meetra's progress, ready to alert the younger woman should a threat present itself. "Heed your own advice, Exile."


	3. The Smuggler -

Meetra didn't get far before encountering her second set of corpses.

Using the "borrowed" plasma torch, she cut through a malfunctioning door at the end of the hall and nearly stumbled over the bodies of two miners just on the other side. Both were humans, a man and a woman, and they were covered in burns, though neither appeared to have a blaster on them. The sickeningly familiar stench of seared flesh hung faintly in the air, bringing with it specters of her past, but there was no sour-sweet undertone of decay, not yet. Dead no more than a day, maybe less. Ignoring the way the smell of burned skin turned her stomach, Meetra knelt between them, carefully passing her hands over their faces to close their eyes, and unhooked a vibrocutter from the man's belt. The short blade was sharp, with hardly a nick or scratch; new, or well-taken care of. She stood and hefted the mining tool, rolling her wrist to test the weight. It felt unbalanced, as if the other half were missing, but it would do as a makeshift weapon, especially if whatever, or whoever, killed the miners was still on the station.

She crossed the room to the opposite door, cycled it open, and froze. Two large droids swiveled to face her, spidery legs clicking against the floor. Both were equipped with two large laser armaments each and they leveled all four at her without hesitation. The hum of the charging bolts broke her trance and muscle memory took over.

Meetra threw herself forward, low to the ground, as the droids fired. The shots passed above and to the side of her, one coming so close she felt the heat of it against her skin. The droids reoriented to fire again, but she had already reached the nearer of the two and she drove the vibrocutter into its center, twisting her body to the side and using her momentum to pull the now-lifeless hunk of metal between her and the other droid. Its bolts bounced off its former companion, fizzling out against the wall. Meetra gathered her feet beneath her and launched her shoulder into the broken droid, pulling the vibrocutter free as the robotic corpse shot forward and collided with the still functioning one, knocking its spindly limbs from beneath it. Before it could right itself, she vaulted over her first victim and slammed the vibrocutter to the hilt in the second. It shuddered once, clinging to functionality longer than the first, and went still. Meetra released the mining blade and stumbled back, bracing herself against the wall while she caught her breath.

Even though it had been over in minutes, the fight had lasted too long. Ten years ago, the droids would have been in pieces before they'd fired a single shot. She was definitely out of practice. She inhaled deeply and pushed herself away from the wall, nose crinkling when the motion caused the acrid tang of burnt hair to swirl around her. She bent her head, bringing her hair forward, and saw the singed ends along the right side, exactly where the uncomfortably close blaster bolt had passed. Definitely rusty. Possibly the result of years of reliance on a lightsaber as well.

Meetra straightened, brushing her hair back into place, and pulled the vibrocutter from the droid. At least some of the miners' deaths were no longer a mystery, though why their own droids would attack them remained as such. She briefly contemplated going back for Kreia, but decided against it. The old woman was likely safer in the morgue, and there was no guarantee she'd be any help in a fight. No, better to push on and hope to find other survivors.

The following corridor was blissfully free of both bodies and hostile droids, but Meetra continued to move slowly and carefully through the hallway. Near the end was a large door, labeled as an "emergency hatch." As Meetra approached it, she sensed a feather-light touch against her consciousness and Kreia's quiet voice echoed in her thoughts. _This is the exit, but it is sealed... strange. In my visions, it was open._

"The exit to where?" Meetra asked aloud, but Kreia didn't respond. "Kreia?" No answer again. Meetra clenched her jaw. There was a time when she would have pestered the old woman in kind, passive-aggressively reaching back through - No. She shied away from the thought. The old wound still stung, even if she had accepted it as part of her punishment. If Kreia didn't want to be helpful, she'd just have to accept it. She tested the door, but it refused to budge; either electronically locked or barred from the other side, and too thick to cut through with the plasma torch either way.

Turning away from the hatch, Meetra carefully engaged the door into the next room, vibrocutter at the ready. Though thankfully empty of droids, there were more dead miners: a dark-haired man roughly half her age, barely more than a boy, and another with a shock of gray hair. The second man lay between a desk with a terminal and a set of set of lockers, his face turned away from Meetra, but the burns on the back of his uniform signaled his demise. She stepped gingerly around the body and sat at the desk, booting up the machine to find a collection of security feeds and accident report recordings. She played through each of the files, anxiety settling deeper into her stomach with each one. As she had feared, the miners had guessed her past and her presence had agitated several of them; of particular note, someone named Coorta, a frequent offender according to the security chief and an advocate for turning Meetra over to something called the "Exchange." Apparently, the droids had gone haywire around the same time. Meetra glanced down at the body next to the desk and back to the stern face captured in the holo. If someone so self-assured had been taken by surprise, she didn't know how much of a chance the other miners had.

Backing out of the logs, Meetra switched over to the live feeds. The station's communications blister was empty of anyone living, but a group of droids prowled the perimeter. She watched them cycle through their patrol a few times, counting carefully. At least five, perhaps more outside the camera's view. Not ideal, but doable. She changed the feeds and started, moving closer to the screen. This one was labeled "Holding Cells," and true to their name, one of the force cages held a prisoner: A human man her own age, or perhaps a few years younger, dark hair cut short in the back but left long and shaggy on top to the point of nearly falling in his eyes and parted on the left. His lanky frame leaned against the back of the force cage, just shy of brushing the field on either side of his leather jacketed-shoulders, and he glared out toward the door, mouth set in a deep scowl. He wasn't wearing a miner's uniform and the fact that he was in a force cage made him seem... less than reputable, but Meetra wasn't in a position to spurn good fortune based on its packaging.

She rose from the desk, stepping carefully over the former security chief, and tested the lockers. The first two were empty and the third was locked. Using the vibrocutter, she carefully leveraged the door open, revealing a small cache of first aid kits and a long staff-like tool. It was double-ended, with a sharp spike at the bottom and a glowing beacon at the top. Not a lightsaber, but it would do. She dropped the vibrocutter on the desk and picked up the staff, twirling it experimentally. Weight was still off, but she'd fought with worse. With a last pitying look at the bodies of the security chief and the young miner, she exited the room.

Emerging into the communications blister, Meetra moved forward slowly, staff held out away from her in a defensive stance, listening for the clattering of spidery legs. The first droid passed in front of her and she lunged toward it before its sensors could register her presence, smashing the beacon's sharp point into what passed for its "face." Another droid came after the first and Meetra threw herself to the side as it fired on her. A third robot clattered up behind her, trapping her between them. She waited, timing her reaction, and launched herself upward as the droids fired, their bolts tearing through their less-protected fronts. Meetra landed in a crouch, using the staff to help break her fall. She staggered to her feet, breathing a little heavier than she should have been.

More clicking echoed from her right and another droid appeared from near the communications console, blasters already spooling up. Meetra rolled behind one of the fried droids, baiting the other closer. Single-mindedly, it charged around her impromptu cover and she swung the staff along the ground, sweeping the droid off its feet and slamming the pike into its center. She kicked it away, pulling the beacon free, and whirled as the sound of multiple metal legs rushed toward her.

The droid lunged toward her, almost too close to avoid, and she threw herself backward as it slammed one of its blasters at her skull. She flipped the staff and tried to stab the droid, but it managed to catch the weapon between its front appendages and wrest it from her hands. Meetra slipped backward, feet coming out from under her, and hit the floor hard as the droid lurched forward. Without thinking, she threw a hand out in a futile gesture, reaching for something long since beyond her grasp.

But this time, for the first time in ten years, something flared to life within her, small but warm. The droid flew backward, colliding with the wall hard enough to stun it. Operating almost purely on instinct, she sprang forward, snatched up the staff, and slammed the spike into the machine before it could recover, getting in a second strike for good measure. She dropped the staff and stepped backward from the robotic corpse, hesitantly reaching out for the Force again, tears filling her eyes when it answered once more. It wasn't much compared to what it had been, a match where there was once an inferno, a single note instead of a symphony, but it was there.

_Ah, you hear it. It is faint, but it is still there._ Kreia's voice was louder now, as if she were in the room with Meetra rather than speaking from a long distance.

Meetra answered her in kind, reaching out for the old woman's consciousness. It felt stumbling and clumsy, but she still remembered how to do it. I_t has been a decade... I had almost forgotten. But it doesn't feel like it did. It feels like it is coming from across a great distance._

_Do not turn away from it. Listen... feel it echoing within you._ Kreia's warning was gentle, but firm. _You will need it if we are to survive and escape this place. Find a way to open the emergency access and we will be on our way._

_There's still more station to search,_ Meetra reminded her, ignoring the faint sense of disapproval that colored her connection with the old woman. _I found another survivor, though. He's being held in a cell here in the communication blister._

There was a long pause on Kreia's end. _Be mindful... his thoughts are difficult to read. But you have nothing to fear from this one, and he may yet prove useful._

_As long as he doesn't try to kill me before we get off this station, I'll consider it a win._ Meetra broke the connection, scooped up her staff, and headed back the way she had come, veering off to the right of the door through which she had entered the communications blister, where another door was set into the wall. She cycled it and entered, beacon held loosely away from her to show she meant no harm. The dark-haired man had straightened from his earlier slouch and was leaning as near to the electric field of the cage as he dared, likely intrigued by the noise from her fight with the droids. His dark brown eyes swept up and down her form, clinging to her curves, and his shocked expression morphed to something between a smirk and a sneer.

"Nice outfit." He had a pleasant enough tenor, though the leering ruined it somewhat. "What, did you miners change regulation uniforms while I've been in here?"

His gaze and mocking tone were acute reminders of how thin and form-fitting Meetra's medical undergarment was. With all the fighting and her sudden reconnection to the Force, she had forgotten Kreia's advice about clothing. Ah, well. She'd made worse first impressions. "I'm not part of the station's crew."

"You don't say."

She resisted the urge to purse her lips. An old friend had once told her it made her look a little like the back end of a tooka. "My name is Meetra Surik. Who are you?"

He hesitated, smirk fading a bit. She could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind, weighing his options, judging whether it was worth it to trust her. Abruptly, he hitched the grin back into place, posture relaxing as if there had never been any tension to begin with. "Atton. Atton Rand." He gestured at the cage's field with a wave of his hand. "Excuse me if I don't shake hands. The field only causes mild electrical burns." He tipped his head to the side, hair threatening to cover an eye again. "So, beautiful, can you help me out?"


	4. - and the Not-a-Jedi

One side of Meetra's mouth quirked up in a half smile and she anchored the staff's point to the floor, leaning her weight lazily against it. They were safe enough for the time being to indulge in a little banter, and it would be satisfying to wipe the smug look off his face. "Why don't we start with why you're in there?" She leaned forward slightly, crossing an arm over her chest. "And keep your eyes up."

Atton's eyes snapped back up to hers and his grin slipped, revealing a petulance just beneath the surface. He leaned away from the field and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Security claimed I violated some trumped-up regulation or another." He gestured at the camera overhead. "Take it up with them if you want, but they stopped listening to me shortly before they stopped feeding me." He affected a melancholic sigh and shook his head. "Now that's criminal."

"They're dead."

Atton straightened, genuine surprise on his face. "Well. I guess that explains some things." He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further. "So... what now?"

"I believe there's a ship we can use in the hanger," Meetra revealed, though she was careful to omit the freighter's name and Kreia's existence. Atton seemed relatively harmless enough, but trust was a hard thing for her to give out anymore. At least, when impossible old women weren't taking away any other option.

His cocky attitude slid back into place along with his smirk. "How fortuitous. You shut down this cell's security field, and I can reroute the emergency systems so we can get to the hanger. We grab your hypothetical ship and then we fly out of here." Atton arched an eyebrow, grin widening. "What do you say, gorgeous? You want off this station as bad as I do."

"Meetra."

Atton frowned. "What?"

"My name. Not 'gorgeous.' Not 'beautiful.' Meetra."

He chuckled, whether out of disbelief or genuine amusement she wasn't sure. "Alright. What do you say, _Meetra_?"

She hesitated, weighing her options, but there was really no choice. She crossed to a console near the force cages, finding the release command easily. The field flickered briefly and then died, and Atton stepped out after waving a cautious hand through the air where the electric current had been. He gave her a lopsided smile. "Thought you weren't going to let me out for a second."

"Me, too." Meetra gestured toward the door to the communications blister with the beacon. "After you."

Atton sketched a mock bow as he passed her, and Meetra rolled her eyes before following him from the room. She was starting to regret her determination to rescue any and all survivors. They made their way to the blister's command console, and Atton dropped into the chair and booted up the terminal without hesitation. Meetra stood just behind and to the side of him, watching the screen over his shoulder. "I'll walk you through what I'm doing." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "For transparency's sake. This console is set on automatic hail; you may have heard it when you came in." Meetra nodded, but hid her unconscious arrival state. She didn't quite trust him that much. "The asteroid drift is constantly changing, so it transmits up to date asteroid charts to incoming vessels, so they don't get crushed into space dust." His fingers danced across the terminal's keyboard as he spoke, and Meetra took careful note of his obvious skill. "The hail warns them to keep their distance until the charts are transmitted, then provides docking instructions. Thing is, you can bounce that same transmission back to the comm here..." He tapped a few last keys with a flourish. "And suddenly, you've got access to the communications system from the inside."

"Impressive," Meetra admitted. He looked back at her and grinned, a genuine one this time. "I'm starting to imagine several reasons why security decided to lock you up."

"Good looks _and_ a sense of humor." Atton turned back to the console. "Now, all we need to do is re-activate the turbolifts, cancel the emergency lockdown, and - " He broke off abruptly, the confidence leaching out of his expression. "Well, that's a problem."

Meetra braced her hand against the back of the chair and leaned over his shoulder to get a better look. "What's wrong?"

"I can't reroute the system." Atton jabbed at a portion of the screen as if it had done him a great personal wrong. "It's been severed from the main hub, after it was locked down remotely - clean cut, too. Someone didn't want the miners calling for help, which means we can't, either." He leaned back, shoulders slumping in defeat. "If there were a better definition of trapped, I've yet to see it."

"Is there _anything_ we can do from here?"

Atton shook his head. "No. All we have is communication, for all the good shouting into a vacuum will do us."

Meetra straightened, tapping her fingers against her staff in thought. "There could be other survivors on the station. We could try to contact them, see if there's anything they can do from their end."

"Knock yourself out." He tapped a few keys and stood, moving out of the way for Meetra to sit down. She leaned her staff against the console and activated the comm for the miners' dormitories with a click. "If there is anyone receiving this, please respond." Crackling static was the only answer. She repeated the hail, but received the same result. She switched over to the channel for the hangers and repeated the request. Almost immediately, she was answered with several sharp whistles and beeps.

"Is that a droid?" Atton asked, confusion and disbelief coloring his voice.

"Of all things," Meetra replied, then to the droid: "Slow down, please. I can't understand you." Her understanding of Binary was nearly as rusty as her combat skills as it was, and the droid's agitation wasn't helping. The chirps and beeps came again, a clear effort being made to deliver the information more slowly. "He's an astromech... Are you operational?" Several low whistles, punctuated by a single beep. "Okay, that's good. We're trapped on the administration level. Can you unlock the turbolifts from there?" The droid answered in the negative with a long scaling-down whistle. "Is there any way out of here besides the turbolifts?" A single beep, followed by a long pause, and then a burst of electronic whirring. "I'd rather risk it than be trapped here. Be careful." The droid beeped once, and then the line reverted to white noise. Meetra shut off the comm and leaned away from the terminal with a sigh.

"You could actually understand that?" Atton asked. He leaned back against the console so that he faced her, legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over his chest.

"An old friend of mine spoke fluent Binary. She taught me a bit of it."

"And you trust the little tin can?"

"He's stuck here, too. He doesn't lose anything trying to help us."

"Great. Sooo, we just wait?" Atton made a face. "Trash compactor better come through."

"I think we can trust him." She glanced up at him, looking him up and down. Superficially, he didn't seem threatening, but the way he held himself, even at rest, told a different story. "What happened here?"

"You found the bodies. You tell me." He gestured back toward the holding cells. "Didn't really have front row seats."

"The security crew was killed by the droids." Meetra pointed at the lifeless husks scattered across the communications blister. "I found reports of accidents over the last few days, all involving droids. A virus, maybe?"

"Or they were reprogrammed."

"To attack the miners? Who would do that?" She did her best to keep any accusation out of her voice, but if Atton's pointed look was any indication, she'd failed. He didn't comment on it, though, merely shrugging in response. "Either way, it can't be the only thing. I've only found a few bodies. It seems like the facility was deserted even before the droids attacked. You've been here a while. Did anything strange happen with the miners?"

"You mean before or after that Jedi showed up?" Meetra stiffened, but kept her face carefully blank. "Either way, it's a real short story as far as it involves me. " Atton shifted to a more comfortable position, leaning further back against the console. If he'd noticed Meetra's discomfort, he didn't mention it. "You see, this Jedi shows up, and you know what that means - where there's one Jedi, the Republic will be crawling up your ion engine in no time. But the story gets better. See, some of the miners get it into their ferrocete skulls that since the Jedi's unconscious, they can collect the bounty the Exchange has posted for live Jedi."

"The Exchange?"

Atton frowned at her. "You don't know what the Exchange is?" When she shook her head, he raised an eyebrow. "It's a big crime outfit, mostly operates out of Nar Shaddaa: spice running, gun trafficking, slave trading. Now I guess they're posting bounties on Jedi." He waved a hand, as if brushing away any further questions. "Anyway, what passes for the law around here didn't like the idea of handing over the Jedi, so the two groups started fighting. That's about the time I got introduced to my new accommodations. Then there was some big explosion, and I was sitting there for a long time, until you showed up in your underwear and things got a lot better." He smirked in the face of Meetra's flat glare, but privately she found his behavior reassuring. Whether he was merely teasing her or being genuinely inappropriate, it meant he didn't see her as a threat; hopefully, she wouldn't have to view him as one, either.

"Why does the Exchange want to capture Jedi?" she asked, redirecting the conversation before Atton's eyes had the chance to wander. "Are Jedi interfering with their operations?"

"Don't know much about it," Atton admitted. "Maybe the Exchange wants one as a trophy, or somebody's got something against Jedi and is looking to collect." He chuckled. "Of course, the second one could be half the galaxy. Not many Jedi left, though. Wouldn't surprise me if the bounty's pretty high. "

Something tightened in Meetra's chest at the implication of Atton's words. She hadn't expected to be welcomed back or even acknowledged by her former comrades, but the idea that there would be no one there to shun her was somehow worse. "What do you mean? What happened to the Jedi?"

"Are you serious?" The open incredulity on his face made her worried she'd slipped by asking the question. "How long have you been out of the world?" She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. It appeared to work, as Atton started to explain. "The ones that weren't killed in the Jedi civil war ended up switching off the lightsabers a long time ago. Word is, there's not even a Jedi Council anymore, but who knows?"

"A war between Jedi... Not Jedi and Sith?"

"Not as far as I know. From what I heard, it was Revan, Malak, and the Jedi that went to join them in the Mandalorian Wars." The tightness in Meetra's chest constricted sharply, making it suddenly difficult to breathe. "They turned against the other Jedi and had a scrap that almost laid waste to the galaxy. Then, like all Sith, Revan and Malak turned on each other." Atton tipped his head to the side, half-smile still faintly in place. "You really haven't heard any of this?"

"Like you said, I've been out of the world." Meetra fidgeted, twisting her fingers together as she absorbed Atton's story. A Jedi civil war and Revan and Malak falling to the Dark Side... this wasn't part of the rumors that had made it to the Outer Rim. Her stomach churned at the knowledge, old guilt mixing with new anxiety. "I had heard rumors, but not of war. I'd heard... Revan saved the Republic."

Atton scoffed. "Well, it would be the least she could do after nearly destroying it. All I heard was Revan returned to pay Malak back for trying to kill her in the first place." His grin was all the warning she had before his mocking tone returned. "You know women." He gestured toward the terminal. "Try to raise that squawky scrap heap again. Need to make sure it didn't shut down and leave us high and dry."

"He'll contact us when he figures out how to open the hatches," Meetra countered. She still needed information, both about the Jedi civil war and the miners' disappearances. "I still have more questions. I've been in a kolto tank for the last few days, and I have no ide-"

"Look, not like your half-naked interrogation isn't a personal fantasy of mine," Atton interrupted, shaking his head and waving away her protests, "but..." He trailed off, brow furrowing as he stared at her. "'A kolto tank?'"

Meetra went still. "Yes?"

Atton straightened and took a step back from her, his expression a frightening combination of surprise, confusion, and alarm. "You're the Jedi." When she didn't respond, a flicker of anger crossed his face. "You are!"

"I'm not a Jedi." Meetra kept her voice level, resisting the urge to reach for the beacon at her side.

He sneered at her denial. "Right. So, half the station's crew had a mass hallucination and decided to sell a non-Jedi to the Exchange?"

"They... were misinformed. They assumed I'm something I'm not."

"That's a load of bantha druk."

"It's the truth." Meetra took a deep breath and turned back to the terminal. "Believe what you want, but I am no Jedi."

"Fine." She looked back at him in surprise. "I'll believe what I want."

"What would it change?" In her frustration, the volume of her voice finally got away from her. "If I were a Jedi, what would it change?"

Several emotions chased each other across Atton's face, but confusion won out in the end. "I'd wonder why you needed me."

"If I were a Jedi, I wouldn't."

Before Atton could respond, the terminal began to beep loudly. The two stared at it, and then at each other before Atton gestured for Meetra to move. She rose and allowed him to sit down, leaning over his shoulder again as he began to type. "Well, what do you know - that little cargo cylinder came through."

Meetra frowned, concern suppressing her relief. "He should have contacted us. Something's wrong."

"It's probably just recharging its batteries," Atton said dismissively. "If it got the turbolifts working, then we should have a clear run to the hanger. We can, uh, finish this conversation once we're off the station."

"He didn't unlock the turbolifts."

Atton turned to stare at her. "What?"

"He couldn't; they've been locked manually." Meetra gestured toward the corridor leading to the medical wing. "I told him to unlock the emergency hatch."

"The emergency hatch? The one that leads down into the mining tunnels - that emergency hatch?"

"Is there another one that leads somewhere else?"

"No, but - that's not the point." Meetra backed up as Atton stood abruptly. "Don't tell me you're taking that hatch down into the mining tunnels." When she shrugged, he shook his head. "That explosion I heard came from below. There's nothing down there except superheated rock and collapsed tunnels. You'd be an idiot to go down there."

Meetra spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "It might be our only option."

"And you might die. I don't really want that on my conscience."

"It's better I risk my life than yours," Meetra said firmly. "Where would the controls for the turbolifts be?"

Atton ran a hand through his hair, clearly still struggling with her decision. "There might be an override in maintenance."

"And I can get there through the tunnels?"

"Yeah." He exhaled heavily, discomfort written in every movement. "You're either really brave or really crazy - or both." Meetra smiled despite herself, and he responded with another genuine grin, though it was weaker than before. "All right - I'll try to monitor things from up here. The only thing moving down there is likely to be mining droids, so don't be playing hero too hard. Oh, and take this." He pulled something small out of one of his jacket's pockets and tossed it toward her.

Meetra caught the object, opening her hand to reveal an earpiece. She looked up to see Atton putting a similar device in his ear. "And where did you get these?"

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Does it matter?" She chuckled and put the earpiece in. "I may be able to guide you through the tunnels from up here. Don't know if the signal will hold if you get too deep, though." He paused, warring emotions on clear display. "Be careful, Meetra."

"Stay safe." Meetra collected her staff and headed out of the communications blister, leaving Atton to watch her walk away. Once outside the hatch, she paused and took a deep breath, then she cycled the door and entered the tunnels.


	5. Into the Depths

The further Meetra descended toward the mining tunnels, the more accurate Atton's warning about the heat became. A long ladder connected the escape hatch to - presumably, as she still couldn't see it - the floor of the mining tunnels, and even halfway down, the temperature had risen to a level that registered as uncomfortable even through the thin undergarment. She paused to rest for a moment, the air beginning to burn nearly as much as her muscles were. Between the fights with the droids and the long climb, her body was beginning to feel the decade's dearth of upkeep.

A burst of white noise in her ear nearly startled her off the ladder before it gradually resolved into Atton's voice. "Can you read me?" The transmission was tinny and shot through with static.

Meetra wrapped an arm around the rung in front of her, freeing a hand to touch the commlink in her ear. "Barely - there's a lot of interference."

"Probably caused by that explosion." A brief pause accompanied by the faint clicking of keys. "Looks like there's a route down to the fuel depot. Well, if the passages haven't collapsed. That explosion knocked out most of the sensors."

"Oh, good. I was thinking this wouldn't be a challenge."

"What would the fun be in that?" Atton chuckled. "There should be an emergency crate near the bottom of the shaft; you might be able to find something useful in there. And watch yourself. There's a lot of droid broadcasts in that area, but I can't pin them down."

Meetra glanced down, squinting in the low lighting. She could just make out the faint blip of the beacon at the top of her staff, presumably lying on solid ground. She'd tossed it from the top of the shaft earlier, both to test the distance and out of an inability to carry it with her. There didn't appear to be anything else down there with it. "Thanks for the warning. If you detect anything, signal me."

"Will do - and be careful down there." The static cut off sharply, leaving behind an echoing silence. Meetra continued to climb down, forcing herself to ignore both the rising temperature and her screaming muscles. Several long, almost agonizing minutes later, the ladder rungs ended and her feet found the floor of the shaft. With her eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, she scanned her surroundings, but for the moment, she appeared to be alone. Scooping up her staff, she moved forward until she reached a door, cycled it, and stepped through.

For a moment, everything was white, her vision blinded by the change in lighting. Meetra dropped into a defensive crouch, staff held protectively in front of her, but she neither heard or sensed anything nearby. Gradually, her sight returned, revealing a room similar to the ones she had passed through previously: sterile chrome and ceramic with little aesthetic design. In the corner stood a lone crate; no doubt the emergency supplies Atton had mentioned. She opened it, pulling out more medpacks, a headband and harness of some sort, a few energy shields, two handheld mining blasters, and an actual vibroblade. Setting these aside, she dug deeper in the canister, coming up with a swath of blue and gold fabric.

The commlink crackled to life. "Find the supplies?"

"Right where you said," Meetra replied, unzipping and stepping into the mining uniform. It wasn't quite her size - it hung loosely on her frame and the sleeves fell past her wrists - but it provided a welcome layer of protection... and decency. "I found some weapons and mining equipment. A uniform, too."

"Dammit." Meetra paused in the act of zipping up the suit, mouth curving up into a half-smile of bemusement at Atton's exhalation. He began to backpedal, as if only just realizing what he had said. "Uh... I mean, good - good to hear it. No sense in you running around half-naked, it's distracting... you know, for the droids." She smothered her laughter and didn't reply, choosing instead to let him wallow in the faux pas. "A-anyway, what kind of gear did you find?"

"There's a harness; looks like it goes around my waist and shoulders." As she spoke, Meetra pulled it on over the mining uniform. "I also found some kind of headband. There's sensors on either side."

"Survey gear," he replied. "It's designed to spot and protect you against sonic mines. The safety harness will be helpful if you try to disarm them. Not that I'd advise it." Meetra filed the information away. She had experience disarming mines during the Mandalorian Wars, but she kept silent. She didn't want to make Atton any more distrustful of her than he already was, or give him a reason to become a threat. She slipped the headband on, allowing it to rest just above her ears. The sensors projected an overlay in front of her, though nothing registered at the moment. "Did you find any mining shields?"

"A few. Are they different from regular energy shields?"

"Not much. They're designed to protect the miners against lasers and heat. Should work against the droids. You still want to be careful, though. They're not as durable, and they won't last more than a few hits."

Meetra strapped one of the shields over her left wrist, slipping the others into one of the pouches on the safety harness, along with the handful of medkits. "Understood. Anything else?"

"Uh, just one more thing." The was uneasiness in Atton's voice. "I've narrowed down some of the ID signals. If the numbers are right... you're sharing those tunnels with a battalion of mining droids." Meetra groaned inwardly, muscles twinging at just the thought of more fighting. "They rely on thermal sensors to get around, and that explosion down there kicked up so much heat and steam that it may blind them a bit.. but not much. You could try to sneak past them, but it'll be risky."

"And if they do spot me?"

"That's why you took the big stick." It was easy to hear the smirk in his words and she smiled despite herself. Crass and full of himself Atton might be, but when he showed confidence, it was infectious. "Actually, there's got to be some central controller down there. Look for a terminal by the main access shaft; that'd be the governing intelligence. If you can reach that, you may be able to shut the droids down, or at least get them back on their original programming."

"I'll keep an eye out. Let me know if anything changes." Meetra tapped the commlink, cutting the broadcast. As much as Atton's chattering put her at ease, it would be harder to focus with him talking in her ear. She unbuckled the harness briefly and slid the mining blasters onto one of the straps, triple checking the safeties for her own peace of mind. The vibroblade she attached to the uniform's belt. Retrieving her staff, she headed out into the tunnels, the steam and heat causing a sheen of sweat to form instantly on her brow.

Before long, the metal hallways gave way to proper stone tunnels, fissures of steam bursting out of cracks in the rocks. Just ahead, Meetra could make out a few droids milling about. They hadn't spotted her yet, and she hugged the tunnel wall as she passed them, hiding her body heat in the steam. Further in, the corridor opened up into a wide room, effectively making it impossible for her to sneak past. Three droids patrolled the area, spidery legs creating an unholy cacophony against the stone floor. Meetra crouched at the entrance to the room, scanning their movements. When the nearest droid turned toward her, she lunged forward, making a sweeping motion with her hand as she ran. The Force answered as readily as it had before, and the droid flew forward, smashing into the rock wall. She was upon it before it could recover, bringing the staff down in a sharp strike and caving in the droid's faceplate. It twitched, spindly legs flailing, and she struck it again, the time with the spike.

The droid went still, but the commotion had attracted the other two. They clattered forward, raising their blasters, and Meetra slapped the energy shield on her wrist before rolling to the side. The shield hummed to life, a barrier rising around her. One of the droid's bolts struck it, fizzling out against the opposing energy. Though she was unharmed, the impact still sent Meetra stumbling, forcing her to plant her staff against the ground to steady herself. Another bolt glanced off the shield, causing it to flicker. Footing regained, she darted forward underneath the nearer droid's guard and levered her staff beneath it, flipping it onto its side between her and the remaining droid. Spinning the beacon, she stabbed its point into the prone droid, putting it out of commission before it could right itself.

The last droid scuttled from side to side, trying to get a clear shot around her makeshift cover. Keeping low, Meetra focused on a pile of rubble, reaching out with the Force. It still weak and small, nothing compared to the torrent it had been over a decade ago. It felt different, as well; before, the Force had flowed through her, a natural extension of her will. Now, it felt like it was echoing, ricocheting and distorting within her. Part of her was too relieved that she could use the Force again to care, while another part was terrified it meant that her returning control was only temporary. She managed to lift one of the bigger rocks, sending it slamming into the droid and crushing two of its legs. It struggled to pull itself free and Meetra leaped over the broken droid, slamming her staff into its trapped compatriot. She brought her staff down twice more before it stopped moving.

Leaving the droid massacre behind, she continued forward, coming to a sharp halt when a translucent dome appeared on her survey gear's overlay. As if on cue, a crackle of static preceded Atton's voice on the commlink. "Watch your step - I'm picking up a lot of sonic mines down there. Don't run unless you have to. Makes them harder to spot."

"You have impeccable timing; I'm looking at one now." She glanced down the hallway, frowning when more signals appeared. "Make that several. Why are there so many mines down here?"

"The droids," Atton explained. "They're designed to set and arm charges for mining. If they set the charges after they went rogue, they may have used them to try and kill the miners..." There was a long pause, and Meetra could guess his next words. "Probably might try to use them to kill you, too. Some of the droids, the excavators mainly, may try to use any undeployed charges as projectiles, so... yeah." He cleared his throat, as if delivering bad news physically pained him. "Also, the super-heated steam I mentioned earlier? I'm reading pockets with temperatures ahead of you high enough to cook the skin off your bones."

Meetra grimaced. "Thank you for _that_ image."

"Hey, would you rather me be honest or pleasant?"

"Point taken."

"The mining shields should protect you, as long as you move quickly." More keystrokes replaced Atton's voice for a moment. "Actually, once you're through that, there's a big open area; might be the main ventilation shaft. Best chance to find the central controller."

"Got it." Meetra moved forward slowly, careful to stay out of the transparent domes projected by the survey gear's sensors. She stopped briefly to disarm a few mines, just in case, stowing them carefully in one of the harness' pockets. Further down the tunnel, a thick wall of steam rose from floor to ceiling, and a wall of heat slapped her in the face as she approached, drenching her mining uniform with sweat near instantaneously. Meetra hesitated, then tapped the energy shield on her wrist, the barrier surging up around her with a gentle hum, took a deep breath, and sprinted forward. Halfway through, her staff began to burn her palm and she released it with a cry, but she didn't stop to try and recover it. The shield fizzled out as she staggered out of the steam, stumbling into the tunnel wall as she tried to catch her breath.

As she struggled to recover, Meetra lifted her hand, inspecting her stinging palm. There was a definite redness accompanying the pain, but otherwise, she appeared uninjured. Pushing away from the wall, she swapped the exhausted shield for a fresh one and continued down the tunnel. After several minutes, the stone began to transition into chrome and ceramic again, eventually opening out into a large area, with a wide shaft going down further into the station's core. At four points around the top of the opening were large reactors, all shielded by visible purple energy. A walkway bisected the mouth of the shaft, a platform situated in the middle, and prowling around the outer ring... at least a dozen mining droids. However, it seemed none of them had spotted her yet. Meetra detached the vibroblade from her harness and crept toward the platform, moving slowly to avoid the droids' attention. Atton's tip about the heat obscuring their sensors appeared to still hold true, and she made it to the platform unscathed.

A terminal sat on one side of the platform, with a small container next to it. Meetra tried to open it, but the mechanism refused to budge, likely affected by the heat. She fished one of the deactivated mines out of the harness pocket and attached it to the container, primed it, and retreated to a safe distance. After a few seconds, the mine blew, popping the top of the crate. Meetra held her position, eyeing the nearest droids, but none of them even turned her way. She crept back to the box and rooted through it, coming my up with a few repair parts and a computer spike. She plugged the latter into the terminal, letting the program suppress the computer's security while she brought up the main commands.

As per Atton's earlier assumption, the terminal was indeed the controlling intelligence for the droids, and the computer spike gave Meetra access to the main functions. She changed the commands back to their defaults, instructing the droids to cease their assault on organics. Hesitantly, she made her way to the other side of the walkway and approached one of the lumbering machines. It turned toward her and she froze, tightening her grip on the vibroblade, but the droid trundled past her without hesitation. Meetra let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, reattached the weapon to her harness, and began to explore.

Some time and a thorough search later, she discovered no conventional way out of the ventilation shaft, save a narrow passageway behind one of the reactors; perhaps maintenance access or something similar. However, the barrier surrounding it prevented her access. She retreated to the terminal and queued up the main commands again, sifting through them until she spotted an option to turn off the containment fields. She hesitated, as turning the fields off seemed like a rather poor choice of action, but she was out of options. Meetra selected the command and executed it, the purple barriers around the reactors vanishing as their humming faded. She crossed back to the other side of the shaft and started around the reactor, jumping a bit when Atton's voice materialized through the commlink.

"Hey, I'm picking up some strange readings - What exactly are you doing down there?" His tone was a combination of confused and strained, and it immediately put Meetra on edge.

"What kind of readings?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"The containment fields in the mining tunnel are shutting down."

Meetra blanched. "Uh... hypothetically speaking, if they had been shut down, say, manually to get to an access tunnel, what would happen?"

Atton was silent for a moment, and she could practically see the disbelief on his face. When he spoke again, however, the urgency in his voice was clear. "You need to get out of there before they vent fuel to surface of the asteroid through the tunnels." There was faint frantic clicking in the background. "I may be able to keep it contained until you reach the turbolift to the fuel depot, but not for much longer, so you have to move. I'm also locking down access to administration to keep the blast from spreading. Get going - because where you are is going to get real hot, real soon."

She didn't need to be told twice. Meetra bolted down the service shaft, dodging a few more errant mines and droids, as well as a body or two as she ran. Turning a sharp corner at the end of the hall, she nearly skidded into the turbolift doors, catching herself just in time. She slapped the call button, relieved when the lift opened up almost immediately, and jumped in, thumbing the door close button repeatedly while stabbing "Fuel Depot" option on the lift's control screen with her other hand. The door slid shut and the lift began to move just as a rumbling started to build beneath her. The ride seemed agonizing slow as the sounds of building pressure and the ambient temperature increased, to the point where Meetra wasn't sure which was making her perspire more. Both had almost reached unbearable levels when the lift finally came to a stop, door whooshing open, and Meetra threw herself out, using the forward momentum to drop into a combat roll and put herself further away from the turbolift. She started to stand when a massive explosion rocked the entire facility, knocking her back to her knees. Sparks and smoke fountained out of the turbolift before the door snapped shut, flooding the hall Meetra stood in with the smell of burning fuel.

Meetra stumbled away from the trashed lift, one hand against the wall to keep herself steady. She glanced briefly into an open room on her left and froze. Lying on the floor was a red-haired man with goggles perched on his forehead, dressed in a mining uniform and clearly as dead as any of the bodies she had encountered so far. The scorch marks and ragged wounds on his skin and clothing spoke to an attack by the mining droids. Her surprise stemmed from the fact that she had seen him before, in one of the security chief's holo-logs. The two had had a heated exchange about the malfunctioning droids, and she guessed he was the head of maintenance or perhaps engineering. She hesitantly approached the body and knelt next to it, examining the man's wounds and checking his clothes for clues. She was so absorbed in her search that she nearly missed the clank of robotic feet approaching from behind her; once the sound registered, she whirled, one hand outstretched as she reached for the Force.

The droid stopped short and Meetra lowered her arm, frowning. It wasn't one of the mining droids, of that she was fairly certain. Humanoid in shape, silver in color, it stood a bit taller than her, with red sensors where eyes would be in its faceplate. It was unarmed, as much as a droid could be while still likely being capable of great strength, but that did little to reassure her. When she didn't attack, the droid spread its arms, as if in a gesture of welcome, and spoke in a clear, pleasant voice:

"Greeting: It is a pleasure to see you alive, Master, provided my receptors are not off-focus. How may I be of service?"


	6. Interview with a Droid

Meetra frowned and took a step back from the droid, a hand drifting toward the vibroblade at her back. The robot made no move to approach her or to back away, apparently content to stare at her expectantly. As the silence dragged on, leaving anxious territory and verging on uncomfortable, Meetra cleared her throat. "Who... what are you?"

The droid perked up, seemingly delighted she was now participating in the conversation. "Answer: I am a survivor of the _Harbinger_, just as you were, Master. I am called HK-50. With the unexpected termination of my previous Master, you are the only organic which I may now serve."

The droid's revelation was both surprising and fortuitous for Meetra. If he'd seen anything, he could fill in the gaps in her memory. "Who was your Master?"

"Answer: The captain of the _Harbinger_, Master." She couldn't be sure if she imagined it, but there was a faint tone of derision beneath the droid's words, as if she were being particularly thick. "I was in transit to Telos to facilitate communications and terminate hostilities... However, we did not arrive at our intended destination."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

HK-50 shook his head, his voice still pleasant, but the undercurrent of annoyance grew more evident. "Irritated Answer: Oh, Master, it is such a long, dull story. And not terribly relevant to our current situation."

His attempt to deflect was surprising. Typically, a protocol droid would be falling all over itself to please, and HK-50's indirect refusal to answer raised several red flags. Meetra crossed her arms, fixing the droid with a stern glare. "Humor me."

If HK-50 were human, she got the sense that he would have been looking anywhere but at her. "Hesitant Explanation: That has been the subject of considerable discussion since our arrival here, Master. Many have attempted to claim you and this unit as salvage." His voice took on a lamenting tone. "I was crudely interrogated concerning our brief history together on board the _Harbinger_... before its communications, weapons, and engines suffered the cascade failure that disabled the ship."

"Cascade failure?"

"Pedantic Explanation: A cascade failure is - "

"I know what it is," Meetra interrupted, a little annoyed by HK-50's readiness to label her as ignorant. "I don't remember any signs indicating a failure, much less one in every faculty of the ship."

"Pointed Observation: To be fair, Master, it appears there is much you don't remember." The smugness in the droid's voice was out of place, an anomaly that raised Meetra's hackles.

"That's true. Why don't I remember any of this?"

HK-50 tapped his chin, a surprisingly human gesture. "Speculation: It is possible you were incapacitated and locked in the well-shielded cargo compartment as the Harbinger was being systematically crippled, Master."

Several of the droid's word choices gave Meetra pause; she seized on the first one. "'Incapacitated?'"

His response was immediate. "Clarification: Yes, Master. No doubt the flurry of destruction on board the _Harbinger_ somehow drugged you into a stupor from which you could not awaken. Most curious."

"'Drugged?'"

The droid patted the air. "Placation: Merely a turn of phrase, Master. The implication that your state was due to the result of ingesting large quantities of juma juice was unintentional." He steamrolled on before she could respond. "I meant to communicate only that you were somehow rendered unconscious before you were locked securely in the cargo hold."

Meetra's hand began to creep toward the vibroblade again. HK-50's constant contradictions had her on edge. "So I wasn't sealed in the cargo hold - someone locked me in."

"Clarification: By locked, I meant 'sealed,' Master. My vocabulator seems to be malfunctioning."

"Clearly. How did I get from the Harbinger to here?"

HK-50 straightened and folded his hands behind his back. "Recitation: Following the unusual set of coincidences that led to the cascade failure in the Harbinger's systems, we were boarded by a small freighter with unknown ID codes. It appeared to have been attacked, but still spaceworthy, and the captain wanted to study it." He gestured toward Meetra. "Your cargo compartment was breached, and you were taken on board the freighter shortly before the Harbinger's systems began to go critical. I, too, managed to board the freighter before the destruction. We were most fortunate to have survived, Master."

"So it would seem." She hesitated. "What was the name of the freighter?"

"Answer: I believe it was a smuggler's vessel by the name of the _Ebon Hawk_."

Meetra kept her face carefully blank. HK-50 seemed sure the two of them were the only survivors; Kreia must have been pulling her corpse act for the entire journey to Peragus, so at least she was safe. And if the droid had been trapped down here since the facility's lockdown, it was likely he didn't know about Atton. Better to keep it that way. She continued probing for information. "Why did the _Ebon Hawk_ intercept the _Harbinger_?"

HK-50 lifted his arms and let them fall, his approximation of a shrug. "Speculation: I do not know. Perhaps it was its intention to play dead, then kidnap you off the _Harbinger_ and rob me of my bounty."

Another incriminating turn of phrase. "'Bounty?'"

"Clarification: By bounty, I refer to your life, Master. It would pain me to see you damaged in any way." Though his voice didn't change, Meetra was sure she heard a mocking undertone to the words.

She raised a hand to halt the droid's explanations. "How did we get here? Did you pilot the ship?"

HK-50's demeanor turned dismissive again and he offered up another vague explanation. "Apology: My memory core cannot provide a clear answer on that point, Master. Suffice to say that once we arrived at this floating rock, out situation became much clearer."

Meetra took a deep breath, forcing down her frustration, and indicated the facility with an expansive gesture. "Fine. Can you tell me what happened here?"

The droid nodded once. "Explanation: An HK protocol droid is a valuable piece of property, but the miners were far more interested in you, Master. Jedi are worth much more in certain... exclusive markets across the galaxy." Meetra recalled Atton's description of the Exchange and she shuddered inwardly. HK-50 continued, his words taking on a slightly bitter tone. "Painful Admission: I must confess to feelings of inferiority at the speculated difference between my value and the price for your capture."

"Why did they think I was a Jedi?" Meetra asked, ignoring HK-50's bellyaching. If she was going to get off this rock, she didn't have time to soothe a protocol droid's bruised ego.

"Surprised Answer: Why, I told them, Master. You are the exiled Jedi who served with Revan in the Mandalorian Wars, are you not?" Meetra's chest tightened painfully, her breath catching in her throat. How did a simple protocol droid know her past... and who had given him the information? Her thoughts chased each other in frantic circles, nearly causing her to miss HK-50's followup. "I hope all of this unpleasantness has not been the result of a miscommunication. If so, then the problem lies with the coreward databases, which are notoriously spotty."

A lie. The Council would never have released the truth of her punishment. Her eyes narrowed before she could stop herself, but HK-50 didn't seem to notice her reaction, and he continued to drone on. "Recitation: Because they believed you to be a Jedi, they debated what to do with you as you lay unconscious in the medical bay. One group seemed intent on selling you as property. The other group opposed this."

"Who won?"

"Observation: No one, Master." If the droid could have chuckled, Meetra got the unnerving impression he wouldn't have been able to speak for laughing. "Three standard hours after the division became apparent, accidents began to occur throughout the facility. A result of improper maintenance, I believe."

This, at least, seemed to line up with what Meetra had already discovered. "The mining droids turned hostile."

HK-50 nodded once. "Assumption: A degradation of the behavioral cores. Crude models are prone to such failures, resulting in murderous rampages. The mortality rate of organics in the facility rose quickly."

"What about the rest of the miners? There aren't enough bodies to account for the entire crew."

"Explanation: Many miners began to join you in the medical bay as a cascade of flawlessly-timed detonations occurred in insulated gas pockets in the lower levels of the facility." He gave the odd shrug again. "The miners were herded into emergency sections of the station by the explosions, quickly and efficiently cutting them off from communications and facility control... but sadly enough, not the ventilation systems." He didn't sound particularly saddened to Meetra. "You see, the explosions had damaged specific sections of this facility's ventilation systems, causing a slow, lethal build up of toxic fumes in the dormitory level."

"Did you do this?" The implied accusation was out of Meetra's mouth before she could catch herself. Anticipating the droid's possible reaction, she reached for the Force, ready to fling HK-50 away from her.

Surprisingly, the droid was more indignant than angry. "Defensive Answer: Master, I am a protocol droid, not a well-crafted assassin droid of unrivaled sophistication. It is highly unlikely I possess the knowledge of how to reprogram the memory cores of base-worker class droids into killing machines, let alone to terminate the organics at this facility, utilizing only Aratech 500 series laser mining drills and explosives fashioned from proton middle cores."

"... That's pretty specific."

"Admission: I cannot and will not attempt to change your mind, Master." The disgust in HK-50's voice was the verbal equivalent of the droid rolling his eyes. "I would urge you to consider that your kolto tank treatments may have caused some distortion." He paused and then changed tack, waving his hands in another placating gesture. "Suggestion: I have chosen to turn my efforts to answering the question as to how we may depart this drifting disaster area as quickly as possible. It is only a matter of time before a ship or freighter docks with the Peragus facility. When that occurs, we shall depart this place... forever."

Meetra kept her silence, digesting the information the droid had provided. If he was waiting for a ship to arrive, he might be unaware of the Ebon Hawk's presence. If she could get to the freighter, she, Kreia, and Atton could escape without HK-50 following. If the droid wanted to wait for a ride, she hoped he'd be stuck there until the facility fell into a sun. "Wait all you want, but I'm getting out of here on my own."

HK-50 tipped his head to the side. "Condescending Retraction: I believe you will do your best, Master. This facility would have to be nailed down with droid-level precision to prevent your escape." Meetra felt a small sense of satisfaction at the tinge of annoyance in his voice. He turned and started to clank away, clearly done with the conversation.

"Wait." The droid paused, turning to fully to face her again. "How do I get to the dormitories from here?"

"Incredulous Assumption: Clearly, the kolto treatments have affected your short-term memory, Master. I recall mentioning the ventilation system being compromised. Any organics in the dormitories will be deceased."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Theory: You could walk across the surface of the asteroid to the dormitory airlock," HK-50 mused, then shook his head, "but such a route would be extremely hazardous, and I do not wish to see you damaged."

"Any survivors could be hurt or in danger - especially if what you say about the vents is true," Meetra said. "We need to make sure they're alright."

HK-50 was silent for a long moment as he mulled it over, to the point where Meetra wasn't sure he hadn't locked up completely. "Warning: Master, continued exploration of this facility may place you in unnecessary danger. I encourage you to return to the medical bay and wait for retrieval from a vessel that is no doubt on the way even as we continue this pointless conversation." Meetra refused to dignify that with a response and after a brief staredown, the droid relented. "Weary Resignation: Very well, Master. But there is little that I can do. You see, the airlock is sealed by a code."

Meetra groaned inwardly. "One that you don't have, I assume."

"Correction: Oh, I already possess the code, Master, but I am afraid it will do you no good." HK-50 sounded positively amused by the situation. "Condescending Explanation: The console governing the droid maintenance area - and this airlock - is voice-printed." He gestured toward the body of the red-haired man behind her. "Musing: In the last days of his life, the maintenance officer was quite careful about voice protocols, bordering on paranoid obsession."

"I can't imagine why," Meetra muttered to herself, but the protocol droid appeared not to have heard.

"Conjecture: I suspect once he realized something was wrong in the facility, he voice-locked the droid bay functions. A prudent measure, but in the end he met the same fate as the rest of the organics." He shook his head. "At the end, he was quite incoherent from the pain, and attempts to facilitate communications with him proved useless. I heard his dying screams as the droids he tended turned on him, mining him like a piece of asteroid rock. The record of his last moments were - "

HK-50 voice left off as the recording took over, the maintenance officer's panicked voice issuing from the droid's vocabulator in fits and starts. "... five droids... burning through the outer door... they're forcing their way into the bay... please, someone they... oh no, they're through! Aghhhh! My leg! They're burning through my leg! I... Stop! Stop, please!"

The dead man's begging cut off as HK-50 switched back to his speaking voice. "Addendum: His remaining attempts at communications are variations in decibel, Master, ranging from frenzied screams to gibbering, inarticulate attempts to beg for his life."

The droid's nonchalance at being witness to a man's death turned Meetra's stomach, but the existence of the recording sparked an idea. "If you have his code and that recording... you should be able to fool the voiceprint."

HK-50 actually took a step back, managing to radiate affront despite his stilted movements. "Objection: Master! To commit such an act would be in violation of the ethics programming most droids are believed to possess. I am afraid there is nothing that can be done."

Meetra raised an eyebrow at "believed to possess," but decided not to pursue it. The droid wasn't likely to help her override the door code willingly, but that didn't mean he couldn't be tricked. He was definitely capable of speaking the code in the maintenance officer's voice; if there were a way to record him doing it... She gestured back toward the hallway and took a step away from HK-50. "I'm going to look around. That all right with you?"

"Condescending Reply: You hardly need my permission, Master."

The droid wandered away, muttering to himself. Meetra let him go and stepped back out into the hallway. HK-50 wasn't likely to attack her - he had said as much when lamenting the danger she had been aboard the _Harbinger_ and the _Ebon Hawk_ \- but she had no intention of finding out how he would react if he learned of Kreia and Atton's existence. When she was sure the droid was out of earshot, she tapped the commlink. "Atton? Atton, do you read me?" Her only answer was the infinite hiss of white noise. Even if he'd somehow heard her, she'd never be able to make out a response. Likely the explosion in the tunnel had overwhelmed the signal. She reached out with her thoughts, seeking Kreia's consciousness. _Kreia?_ No response. Hopefully, the old woman was still safe in the morgue.

With no way to contact either ally, it seemed the only way forward was to pry the code and voiceprint out of HK-50, either by trickery or by force. Meetra didn't fancy her chances with the latter, but the former was probably doable. She'd have to move quickly, though; if there were any surviving miners in the dormitories, they're time was running out. And if the droid caught on to her plan, hers would be as well.


	7. Space Walk

After half an hour of searching, Meetra found what she was looking for in a plasteel container: a small recording device and a datapad belonging to the dead maintenance officer. She scrolled through the files, discovering the device was called a sonic imprint sensor, something the maintenance officer had put together with HK-50's help and then hid in the container to prevent other miners from using it to override the voiceprint controls on the droids. Meetra replaced the datapad and palmed the sensor, returning to HK-50. The droid was still stomping around the room, clearly annoyed that his expected escape route hadn't arrived yet. He ignored Meetra as she approached, though his muttering increased. When she called his name, he looked up, hesitating for a moment before answering. "Hopeful Reply: Have you decided not to embark on a foolish suicide mission?"

Meetra ignored his snark, surreptitiously thumbing the sonic imprint sensor's activation switch. "Actually, HK-50, I wanted to apologize."

"Incredulous Surprise: Apologize for what, Master?"

"I shouldn't have assumed you would be able to mimic the maintenance officer's voice well enough to fool the voiceprint," Meetra said, hoping the droid wouldn't be able to detect false sincerity. "It was rude. Can you forgive me?"

"Slightly Offended Answer: Master! I am more than capable of such simple forgery."

"Really? That would be really impressive to hear. I mean, if you're feeling up to it."

HK-50 straightened, radiating delight in every movement. "Proud Answer: Master, I believe my vocabulator is working adequately enough to accommodate your request. Recitation - " He switched back to the maintenance officer's voice, thankfully void of the man's dying screams, "Maintenance Control: Voiceprint ID: R1-B5." He transitioned back to his usual voice. "Rhetorical Question: Was that sufficient, Master?"

"Color me impressed." Meetra switched the sensor off and subtly pocketed it. "Thank you, HK-50. I'm going to keep looking around for supplies. Come find me if a ride shows up?"

The droid nodded. "Delighted Acquiescence: Of course, Master." As he turned away, Meetra was certain she saw a spring in his step. Better to let him believe he'd won; he'd be less likely to follow her, at least right away. Meetra slipped out of the room and threaded her way through the fuel depot, the echoing of her footsteps the only accompaniment. The silence was even eerier after the conversation with HK-50, as though the droid's synthetic voice had been a barrier against the emptiness of the facility, and now that she had left him behind, the unsettling stillness crept back in. At the end of the long empty corridor, she ran into three doors. Two of them were sealed; one had the word "Airlock" stenciled above the door, while the other blocked access to the turbolift. The third led into a small workroom with tall shelves full of robotic odds and ends against one wall and a terminal against the other. Meetra crossed to the console and booted it up, selecting the maintenance logs from the command list.

A hologram of the deceased red-headed officer materialized above the console and launched into the implementation of the sonic imprint sensor among the mining droids. Meetra skipped to the next log, causing the hologram to crackle and then reconstitute, this time relating the arrival of the Ebon Hawk. There was mention of a protocol droid, presumably HK-50, and an astromech, a T3 model. She wondered if the chirpy droid who had helped her earlier was one and the same, and she felt a pang of regret for not asking HK-50 about him. On the other hand, the protocol droid was more likely to lie than give her a straight answer, so there was a good chance it wouldn't have mattered either way. His lack of contact after opening the mining tunnel access still worried her; she'd have to keep an eye out for the little guy. The hologram had started to loop while she was lost in thought, so she skipped ahead to the next one and her heart clenched. HK-50 had been telling at least some of the truth: he had indeed told the miners about her past, as both a Jedi and part of Revan's rebellion. The officer spoke about the schism between the miners who plotted to sell her to the Exchange and the others who opposed it, mentioning a familiar name: Coorta. The idea that he might be alive and waiting for her in the dormitories made her stomach churn, but she knew she couldn't leave him behind if their paths crossed; no one deserved to die here, trapped in the sterile corridors at the mercy, or lack thereof, of their own droids. The last log reported the increase of accidents among the mining droids, the officer's voice thick with urgency and an undercurrent of fear. Meetra sighed and backed out of the logs. If only she'd woken up earlier, even if just a day previous. She might have been able to save more than an old woman, a shady rogue, and a snarky droid.

She shook her head and brushed her hair back from her face, as much to clear the strands from her eyes as to push away the guilt, and pulled the sonic imprint sensor from her pocket, forwarding through the recording until she reached HK-50's impression of the officer. She selected the voiceprint command of the airlock, beginning playback when the terminal prompted her to speak the password. There was a heavy thunk out in the hallway as the door to the airlock cycled open. Meetra waited, listening intently, but the sound of clanking robot feet didn't come. HK-50 was probably still congratulating himself for "convincing" her not to travel to the dormitories. She chuckled at his imagined reaction when he discovered that she'd tricked him as she entered the inner airlock.

Several lockers lined the far wall and Meetra rifled through them, finding a space suit in the one nearest the outer airlock door. She put everything but the helmet on, hesitating, and then tapped the commlink. "Atton?" More white noise came back at her, the signal still too weak to overcome the interference. She removed the device from her ear and attached it to a port in the helmet, connecting it to the suit's built-in radio, then pulled the helmet carefully over her head and activated the seal. All sound, had there been any, was instantly dampened, save for the faint hiss of the suit constantly recycling and resupplying oxygen. Meetra cycled the outer airlock door, the inner one automatically sealing behind her, and stepped out into the vacuum. A metal walkway extended out before her, curving around beneath the communications blister and out toward the other side of the facility.

The suit made her movements slow and clunky, but Meetra was grateful for it. The last thing she needed was to accidentally catapult herself off into the infinite blackness. The magnets in the space suit's boots jerked her feet back down to the walkway after every step, forcing her to move forward in a kind of shuffle rather than proper walking. Though it hindered her speed, it did give her a chance to admire the view, the star-dusted black of space enveloping the facility and reminding her just how small it, and she, was in comparison. As she approached the communications blister, the suit's radio crackled to life, a signal finally breaking through. "It's about time."

Atton's voice and the evident relief in it made Meetra smile. After the quiet of the mining tunnels and the fuel depot, as well as HK-50's shifty non-answers, it was good to hear a relatively friendly voice. "Were you worried?"

"Of course. There's a shortage of beautiful women in the galaxy; shame to lose one." Meetra rolled her eyes and continued to move along the catwalk. At least he felt safe enough to joke. "I lost your signal after you left the mining tunnels. Now you're coming in clear." He paused for a moment. "... except I'm picking you up on the exterior of the facility, on the asteroid's surface... that can't be right..."

She rounded the walkway's curve, coming to a stop in front of the blister's transparent wall. Through the glass, she could see Atton squinting at the terminal's screen, brows drawn together, as he pecked away at the keyboard. "Really? How strange."

"You're telling me."

Meetra resisted the urge to laugh. "Maybe you should look up."

He did, staring at her for a moment as if he couldn't comprehend what he was looking at, and then his eyes widened, mouth involuntarily falling open. Now, Meetra did laugh. The genuine surprise on his face was cute and endearing, the first true expression she'd seen unfiltered through his sarcastic facade. "What are you doing out there?" He sounded dazed, as if hit over the head.

"I ran into a rather... chatty protocol droid in the fuel depot," Meetra said, leaving out HK-50's more unnerving qualities. "He said some of the miners might've taken shelter in the dormitories. With the turbolift locked down, this is the only way."

"You're crazy." Her answer appeared to have snapped Atton out of his shock; now he just sounded angry. "Even for a Jedi."

Some of Meetra's good humor faded and her lips compressed into a thin line of irritation. "I'm not - "

"Yeah, yeah." Atton waved away her protest. "When we have time. You need to get out of there, quick."

"Believe me, I'm trying. You ever try moving quickly in one of these?"

"Any other day, I would love to continue this banter thing we've got going, but you need to listen to me." He dropped his attention to the terminal before continuing. "What little is left of this facility's venting systems have gone active, likely from the explosions in the mining tunnels. They're expelling Peragus fuel deposits into space through the exterior vents... right in your path."

"Can you shut it down?"

"I can't - I'm still locked out of the main systems here." Atton typed furiously, but Meetra could see the defeat on his face. "The vents look like they've been purposely rerouted to vent the gasses to the exterior, and only in the last few minutes." A pit formed in Meetra's stomach; had HK-50 discovered her absence and created the obstacle to stop her? "It's almost as if - " An alarm began to sound, irritatingly loud even through the commlink. Atton winced, searching the terminal's data for the source of the warning. "Oh, what now?" He paused, eyes narrowing and then widening. "I don't believe this - there's a ship coming in, sending a docking code."

Meetra frowned. "Isn't that a good thing?"

Atton looked up, gaze travelling past her, and his face went slack. Meetra turned as quickly as the cumbersome suit would allow and her heart climbed into her throat. A large orange and tan ship glided toward the mining facility, the symbol of the Republic displayed prominently on the vertical bow. It sailed through the soundless black, weaving through the asteroids with an uncanny grace. As it swept past her, the ship's name escaped Meetra in a breathless whisper: "The _Harbinger_."

"Looks like your Republic friends finally showed up," Atton grumbled, seeming not to have heard her. The _Harbinger_ slowed as it came alongside the facility, coming to a halt on the far side of the asteroid. The docking clamp extended from the facility's exterior and attached to the ship, an unfortunately automatic process, the fueling line following shortly after. Once the tether was secure, an enclosed ramp extended to meet with the _Harbinger_'s airlock, forming an airtight seal. From this distance, Meetra couldn't make out whether or not anyone was exiting the ship. As she squinted, heart still hammering in her chest at the sight of the vessel, another mind brushed against hers, a whisper-thin touch, and Kreia voice sounded in her head, as clear as if the old woman had been standing next to her.

_He has __come_.


	8. Dorm Invasion

_Kreia?!_ Meetra reached for the old woman's mind, grasping wildly with her thoughts. _Who's coming? Kreia? Kreia!_ Silence echoed back at her. Panic clawed its way up into her chest, shortening her breath. The _Harbinger_ hovered ahead of her, still and imposing against the black backdrop of space. There was nothing outwardly terrifying about the ship; under other circumstances, its formidable bulk would have been of little consequence, perhaps even comforting, but now she felt the same anxiety-inducing wrongness she'd felt in the aftermath of Malachor V. Her connection to the Force was still too tenuous to confirm her unease, but Kreia _and_ HK-50 had labeled her as the only other survivor from the _Harbinger_. As fond of half-truths as they were, there was little chance both of them were lying. And if that were the case, it meant that someone, or something, else had control of the Republic ship... and out of all possible points in the galaxy, had ended up exactly where she was. Calling it a coincidence would be more than generous; it would be more akin to suicidal.

"Meetra!" Atton's voice pulled her back to reality. From the volume, it seemed it wasn't the first time he'd called her name. She turned back to the communications blister, glad he couldn't see her fear through the space suit's tinted faceplate. He was watching her intently, concern flickering briefly across his features before the self-assured mask slid back into place. "You need to get back inside. Depot or dormitories, I don't care. You're not gonna save anyone if you run out of air." He paused and chuckled grimly. "Or if whoever docked that tub isn't looking to leave witnesses. Get moving, Jedi."

The jibe, more than anything, broke through her paralysis, and she let out a strangled laugh. "You're testing my patience on purpose, Rand."

He flashed a tense grin. "If it gets you to listen, I'll do it every chance I get." He turned his attention back to the terminal, calling up more information. "Looks like there's a turbolift that leads back to the administration level on that side of the facility, too. If you can unlock it, you can get back up here to me." He glanced back out at her. "Fair warning: I'll probably lose you once you get through the airlock. That explosion is still throwing up a lot of interference. So, I guess I'll just say 'good luck' now."

Meetra nodded, raising a hand in response. "Be careful, Atton." He mimicked the gesture and she turned away, shuffling forward toward the dormitory airlock. The _Harbinger _still loomed large ahead of her, but Atton's prodding had given her the resolve to push the fear to the back of her mind. Finding survivors had to be her first priority. If her search was fruitless, if there was no one but Atton and Kreia to save, then getting off the station was the next course of action. Neither plan had to involve the ominous vessel. At least, she hoped they didn't.

Halfway between the communications blister and the airlock, she ran into the vents Atton had warned her about. There were two, side by side, both spewing a violet gas at steady intervals. Perhaps a safety function, in the unlikely, under normal circumstances at least, event that anyone was trapped outside the facility if an emergency required the fuel to be vented. Meetra waited, timing her reaction. She wouldn't be able to cover the entire distance before the far vent expelled another burst of gas, but there was a small gap between the two that would hopefully provide some safety. As the first vent went quiet, she shuffled past it, reaching the thin safe zone before gas burst out on either side of her, so close at this distance that she could feel the heat through the space suit. She flinched, but held her ground, moving past the second vent as soon as its expulsion slowed.

Reaching the airlock, she cycled the door and stepped in, stumbling a bit as her balance reoriented to accommodate for the lack of magnetic pull from the suit's boots. She staggered forward to the inner airlock and hit the release. Behind her, the outer door slid shut and her ears popped as the pressure in the room equalized rapidly. The inner door opened and Meetra stepped forward into another long chrome and ceramic hallway. She fumbled with the seal on her helmet and it released with a rush of recycled air, and she pulled it off, popped the commlink back out, and set the helmet on the floor. Silence, sharp and biting, rushed in to fill the void, no longer held at bay by the helmet's dampening effect. She stripped out of the suit and folded it up into a small square, boots hanging off either side, and then hooked both the suit and the helmet to one of the harness' loops. Clunky if she got into a fight, but the suit could always serve a purpose later on. She unhooked the vibrosword, gripping it tightly, and made her way down the corridor.

Further in, she could faintly hear the clatter of droid appendages, but she found it hard to feel any concern. After dealing with HK-50 and seeing the _Harbinger_, the slow, almost bumbling mining droids seemed trivial. When she stumbled upon one, she barely paused, skirting around it as it continued skittering about without a purpose. Eventually, Meetra came upon the first corpse since the fuel depot: another female miner, her body scorched and pockmarked. A datapad lay near her outstretched hand. Meetra scooped it up and scrolled through the message, learning that the droids were not the only malfunction in the dormitories: the fire suppression system, fueled, in all the wisdom of an insane engineer, by carbonite, had activated, killing at least one of the miners and leaving the author of the datapad trapped in the corridor with the droids. She also revealed that the nearby storage room contained ion grenades, which she had been unable to retrieve due to the lockdown. Meeta replaced the pad and murmured a short apology over the woman's body before turning to the storage room. She fished another sonic mine from the pocket of her harness, attached it to the door, armed it, and retreated down the hall.

The door blew open with a sharp crack, drawing the attention of the droid Meetra had passed earlier. It clicked back down the hall, pausing briefly when it reached her, and then continued on to the door. It turned from left to right, confused, and then returned the way it came. She waited for it to pass and then slipped into the room, rifling through the lockers and plasteel canisters, turning up a few droid repair kits and a handful of ion grenades. She pocketed all of it and went back out into the hallway.

She heard the fire suppression turrets before she spotted them, the whirring of their servos as they turned from side to side cutting through the silence. They snapped toward her as she turned the corner and fired, but their blasts didn't carry past the threshold of the room they were placed in. Meetra reached for one of the mining blasters, calculating the distance between the edge of the room and the nearest droid, but she released the weapon after a moment. The Jedi had viewed most weapons besides lightsabers as beneath them, none more so than blasters, and, like most Jedi, she'd never had training in using one. Even the feel of the weapon in her palm was off, as if either it or her hand was the wrong shape. Instead, she fished a couple of ion grenades out of her harness, thumbed the safeties, and lobbed one at each turret. Her coordination was true and both grenades skidded to a stop against the casing of the turrets. Meetra ducked back around the corner, turning her face away as the grenades exploded. She waited a moment and then peeked back in. Scorch marks pocked two corners of the room and pieces of metal were scattered all across the floor; all that remained of either turret. She crossed the room and continued down the corridor, eventually arriving at a three-way intersection with a terminal against one wall.

Meetra switched the console on and selected the camera feeds from the main commands. She brought up the mess hall first, wincing when it presented her with a grisly tableau of dead miners and demolished droids. The views of the dormitories were no better. Poisonous fumes were still being pumped into both room, but she could make out the shapes of bodies beneath the deadly clouds. Her heart sank and she leaned heavily against the console, tears of frustration threatening to spill over. She couldn't shake the sense of responsibility she felt, a holdover from her lessons so many years ago. She'd always been told people depended on her for safety and security, and even though she knew now that it wasn't true, it was still a hard thing to fight. Meetra took a deep breath, centering herself as much as possible, and began to flick through screens, eventually stumbling upon the ventilation controls. Though locked, the password wasn't hard to crack, even with her mediocre skill, and she cut off the vents in both dorms. With the danger taken care off, she canceled the lockdown and the dormitory door cycled open behind her.

She entered the east dorm first, skirting gingerly around the bodies. Many were curled in on themselves, hands near their throats, and those who had fallen face-up stared sightlessly, a permanent grimace of pain and fear imprinted on their features. Meetra averted her eyes, swallowing hard against the bile rising in her throat. The facility's saboteur had a lot to answer for. Finding no clues, she exited and crossed the hallway to the western dorm. The scene was almost a mirror image of the other dormitory, the only difference being the bodies themselves. A man wearing a more formal version of the now-familiar miner's uniform lay near the dorm's terminal, his arm outstretched toward it with a small object clasped in his hand. Meetra knelt next to him and gently pried his fingers open, revealing a small data drive. She stood, plugged it into the console, and opened its storage to find two holologs, the file names identifying the drive's owner as the facility's administrator. Ignoring the sense of foreboding that weighed heavy on her, she selected the first one.

A hologram of the dead man at her feet fizzled into life, the fear and fatigue evident even through the grainy footage. "_This may be the beginning of a long record - it's about an hour after the facility suffered the explosion that triggered the emergency lockdown. Just finished helping the dock officer set up the transmission relay. Not much signal strength, but it's better than nothing._" Meetra took note of the revelation. It likely explained how the _Harbinger_ had found its way to the facility, assuming it hadn't followed the _Ebon Hawk_. "_The transmission gives the code to open the turbolift when..._" He trailed off and locked down, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing, "_... or if, help arrives. The code is a simple group of five numbers - three, seventeen, thirteen, then the next two numbers are -_"

A woman's image appeared alongside his, arms wrapped close around herself. The same anxiety in the officer's face was reflected on hers. "_Sir, couldn't we contact the medbay? Maybe the Jedi is awake._" There was a hopefulness is her voice that pricked at Meetra's heart. These people had needed her. "_If so, she could help us._"

The man shook his head, despair and acceptance mingling in the movement. "_No good - the link to the medical computer was severed from the hub, just like the administration console. Even if the Jedi wakes up, how would we get the dormitory turbolift code to her? Without it, the turbolift to the administration level is locked down._" The log dissolved into static as it ended. Meetra committed the numbers the administrator had listed to memory. Returning to the console's main commands, she saw that there was a record of the transmission saved in its memory. She scanned it, running the possible combinations in her head. It was a military flash code, not unlike ones she had used during the Mandalorian Wars. After a few more minutes of contemplation, she was confident she had the remaining digits: 5 and 7.

She queued up the remaining log, the administrator's holo clone rematerializing in front of the terminal. "_We just took inventory of our supplies. We've got enough emergency rations in the dormitories to last almost a month, but with all the problems in the facility, I don't know how long we'll last. I wish we could contact the Jedi, maybe she could..._" He balled his fists, clenching them tightly. "_But no, she's still floating in that damn tank. Someone's played us for fools, and since Coorta -_" He spit out the name, as if just saying it was distasteful "_\- and his crew aren't locked in here with us, I'd say it's pretty clear who it was. If I ever catch up with that Mandalorian-loving son of a -_" He cut himself off with a heavy sigh. "_At least the air scrubbers are still working, even through they're tied into the -_" Again, the administrator cut off, this time with panic in his eyes as a grainy, pixelated holographic representation of the poisonous fumes began to rise around him. "_Hey, what's happening to the ventilation system?! It's -_" His words dissolved into a horrible cacophony of gurgling coughs as he clutched at his throat, his eyes bulging. Unable to look away, Meetra witnessed his last moments as his sputtering slowed and he sank down to the floor.

Meetra stumbled out of the dorm, struggling against to keep the meager contents of her stomach where they belonged. She allowed herself a moment to gather her composure and then headed down the last corridor at the intersection, arriving at the mess hall. She picked her way through the bodies, human and droid alike, exiting the opposite side and following the curving path around to the turbolift. She came to an abrupt halt as she entered and saw three bodies scattered around the lift's door and terminal; more miners separated from the groups in the dorms by the hostile droids? Two of the men were covered in blaster wounds and scorch marks, identical to most of the bodies she'd encountered, but the third looked like his chest had been caved in. She examined each body, all male humans and all clothed in mining uniforms, finding a data drive like the administrator's on the corpse furthest from the turbolift. She crossed to the terminal and inserted it, pausing when the file names identified the drive's owner: Coorta, the miner whom the others had suspected of sabotaging the facility and the orchestrator of the plan to sell her to the Exchange. On the drive, she found saved footage from the turbolift's cameras, time-stamped somewhere between the dormitory lockdown and the miners' deaths. She queued it up, both curious and loathe to see what had been Coorta's end.

The man himself, or at least his hologram, materialized before her. "_\- almost didn't make it out of the dormitory section before the lockedown, you murglak! You're cutting it a little close, aren't you?_"

A new voice spoke, belonging to someone other than Coorta's associates; someone speaking over the intercom, then. "_Yes, a regrettable miscalculation on my part. I'm contacting you because I'm picking up a subspace transmission from within that level - is that your doing?_"

The miner frowned, fingers fidgeting on the mining blaster at his waist. "_No, they... they must be trying to use the old relay system to send an emergency signal. I doubt they know what's really going on._"

"_Hey!_" Coorta turned as one of his partners, a younger man with short light-colored hair, interacted with the turbolift's console. "_This turbolift's locked down._"

"_Try the code again_." Coorta's voice was tense and he was gripping the blaster now. He looked back to the ceiling, addressing the disembodied co-conspirator. "_Don't worry about the miners and their transmissions. By the time help arrives, we'll be all the way to Nar Shaddaa._"

The unseen voice chuckled. "_Oh, they won't be leaving the dormitories. The explosion within the tunnel has damaged the ventilation systems, causing breaches in the core exhaust conduits._"

If the hololog had been in color, Meetra was sure she would have seen the blood drain from Coorta's face. "_What?! That'll kill them all._"

"_Not all, unfortunately. But I'm sending a number of mining droids to your location right now to correct that problem._"

Coorta's associate turned away from the console, panic in both his face and voice. "_Coorta, the lift's still locked down - the sequence isn't working!_"

"_Keep trying it!_" Coorta glared upwards, even the hologram radiating the desperate fury of someone who knew he was doomed. "_You... why are you doing this? Why me?!_"

"_You?_" The voice was amused, as if the miner had told a mildly funny joke. "_It was never about you. The Jedi is all that interests me. But then you had to ruin everything by revealing her identity, and then trying to harm her. And that I cannot allow._" The speaker paused, savoring the satisfaction of pulling one over on Coorta. "_Statement: You are a risk, Coorta. You are impulsive, crude... and soon, deceased._"

The air left Meetra's lungs in a sharp huff. Only one droid in the facility prefaced his speech to facilitate understanding like that. Her chest tightened, a cold mass forming in her stomach. As the footage continued, three large mining droids entered the room, opening fire on the miners without hesitation. The men screamed and the one closest to the door, the one who hadn't spoken, attempted to flee, but the nearest droid threw out an arm, slamming the hapless miner into the wall and crushing his chest. Coorta and the light-haired young man went silent, their bodies riddled with blaster fire. Over the intercom, HK-50 sounded as if he were barely able to contain his glee as the droids returned the way they'd come. "_Mocking Query: Coorta? Coorta, are you dead yet? Smug Statement: I believe I forgot to mention that I reversed the turbolift codes in case you managed to get this far._" The log ended, the holograms vanishing over their flesh and blood counterparts.

Meetra's breath was hard and shallow, her heartbeat a roar in her ears. If HK-50 had access to the facility's camera network... did he know where she was now? Had he been tracking her since he realized she'd left the fuel depot? A more frightening thought occurred: did he know about Atton and Kreia? Fear of the possible answer to that question galvanized her into action. She selected the command to unlock the turbolift from the terminal's console and entered the code, careful to reverse it as per HK-50's revelation. She fled into the lift and set it to return to the administration level, afraid she would hear the clank of metal on metal before the doors slid shut.


	9. I, Assassin-Bot

Meetra bolted through the turbolift door the second it was wide enough, nearly plowing headlong into Kreia standing on the other side. The old woman narrowly sidestepped the tip of the Meetra's vibrosword with a withering look. Meetra half-shrugged and lowered the weapon toward the floor, still preoccupied with HK-50's possible retaliation. "Are you alright? Why did you leave the morgue?"

"To meet you." Kreia's tone suggested she'd find a particularly dense bantha more intelligent than Meetra's questions. She lifted a hand to stall the younger woman's reply. "We are out of time. I have felt a disturbance..." For the first time, something akin to fear flitted across the old woman's face, and it sent a new chill down Meetra's spine. "Our enemy is here, and we must leave at once."

"The person who fired on the _Ebon Hawk_?"

Kreia nodded. "The very same, and he will not let us go without blood being shed."

"Well, what's one more person trying to kill us?" Meetra chuckled grimly, shaking her head when Kreia raised an eyebrow. "I'll explain later. Let's go. We'll collect Atton and move from there."

"'Atton?'" In the old woman's mouth, his name sounded slimy and unpleasant, and Meetra frowned. As if sensing her disapproval, Kreia changed subjects fluidly. "In any case, we need to make our way to the docking area on this level. I fear the airlock has already opened, and we must be on our guard."

"I couldn't see anyone from the catwalk outside the station," Meetra admitted, leaving the implication hanging. Kreia regarded her silently. "Right. Let's get moving." Meetra took the lead, heading back toward the communications blister, and Kreia fell in behind her. Save for their footsteps, the sterile hallways were as quiet as when she had passed through previously, but now the silence held an oppressive quality to it, a sinister air that put Meetra on edge. They passed through the security office and Kreia picked up Meetra's abandoned vibrocutter from the desk, holding it a loose, but firm grip. Meetra noted the old woman's familiarity with the weapon, but didn't comment on it. At least she would be able to defend herself if necessary.

They entered administration and Meetra heard Atton before she saw him, hurling curses under his breath at the terminal. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, half-smile sliding into place at the sight of her, but his face fell when he noticed Kreia, confusion replacing relief. "What the hell is going on?" He gestured at the old woman. "Who's she? Another Jedi? What, did you guys start breeding when I wasn't looking?"

"Not a Jedi; I'll explain later." Meetra leaned her vibroblade against the console, unhooked the mining blasters from her harness, and pushed them into his hands. "Here. We need to get moving."

Atton stared blankly at her, but took the blasters, checking the charge and safety mechanically. "Uh... all right. I'm guessing that Republic ship isn't carrying friends of yours." Meetra flinched inwardly. No, if Kreia and HK-50 were correct, the _Harbinger_ wasn't carrying friends of hers. Not anymore.

"I hope your talent for understatement is offset by your skill with a blaster." The derision in Kreia's voice was almost as potent as kinrath toxin. "If not, then I fear our time together will be short indeed."

"Yeah, and I'm also good at running and drinking, your majesty," Atton snapped, glaring at the old woman. She stared back, gaze milky and sightless, mouth curved up into a small irritating smile. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Meetra. "So what's the plan? With the hanger still locked down, our options are kinda limited."

"If we cannot reach the _Ebon Hawk_, then we must find a way to escape on the ship that has docked here," Kreia cut in.

"_The Harbinger_?" Meetra rounded on the old woman, eyes wide. "Is that wise? Whoever brought it here probably isn't eager to help us leave."

"If we can't get to the hanger, that warship's the only way off this station," Atton said, sounding reluctant to agree with Kreia. "Even if you two aren't big friends of the Republic."

The Republic was the least of their problems, but Meetra held her tongue. Part of her was loath to alarm Atton further, and another smaller part held out faint hope for other survivors aboard the _Harbinger_, regardless of Kreia and HK-50's statement to the contrary. She nodded and retrieved her vibrosword. "Let's get moving, then. Kreia thinks we have a way onto the ship through the airlock."

Atton took the lead, moving toward a hallway branching off to the left of the communications blister and gesturing for both women to follow. "Perfect. We have a straight shot to the shi - "

"Threat: Master, perhaps I did not enunciate clearly the last time we spoke."

Meetra whipped around, vibrosword snapping up in front of her. She reached for the Force, its faint melody rising around her in response. HK-50 stood at the far end of the room, a large blaster rifle clutched in his metallic hands, his lenses glowing with an unnerving red light. Four spherical machines orbited around him; Meetra recognized them as robotic mines from their use during the battle of Dxun. Now that he had her attention, HK-50 relaxed his aim, but didn't let the rifle lower completely. "I suggested you shut down, stay put, and wait for rescue."

"No, you were clear," Meetra said, shifting slightly to put herself between HK-50 and her companions. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Atton moving with her, allowing her to remain between them while giving himself a clear line of fire. "I just don't take orders from assassin droids."

"Clarification: 'Assassin droid' is such a crude term, Master, reserved for durasteel drones uploaded with only the most archaic kill-programs."

"Sorry, did I hurt your feelings?"

"This the 'protocol' droid you mentioned?" Atton asked, mining blasters trained on HK-50's silver frame. On Meetra's other side, Kreia stood silent and unmoving, but tension radiated from beneath her drab robe.

HK-50's head swiveled minutely to focus on Atton before returning to Meetra, the tip of his blaster rifle straightening. "Continued Recitation: The function I perform has been referred to as 'wanton slaughter,' I prefer to see it as a means of facilitating communications, resulting in a termination of hostilities."

Meetra shrugged, the tip of her vibrosword bobbing with the movement. "Whatever you say. 'Murder' still means 'murder' to me."

The droid tipped his head to the side, a small gesture of annoyance. "Correction: I am not here to argue semantics, Master, so I will simply inform you that you are wrong - as were those recently-corrected miners."

"And the miners in the med-bay? The ones in the kolto tanks you poisoned?" Meetra's voice took on a hard edge. "How did they figure into your 'termination of hostilities' when they couldn't fight back?"

"Indignant Answer: Master, the miners intended to place you in jeopardy. I could not allow that to take place." He waved a hand dismissively. "After reprogramming the mining droids to 'mine' any organics they perceived, they began to kill the miners one by one. Then a series of flawlessly-timed explosions - "

Meetra seized on the information. "Like the ones that crippled the _Harbinger_?"

HK-50 paused for a long moment, and Meetra took small pleasure in knowing she was frustrating the machine. "... Continued Recitation: A series of flawlessly-timed explosions drove the miners into their dormitories - where I was able to gas them all at once without wasting time hunting them through the mining tunnels."

"Well, couldn't have them inconveniencing you."

"Exasperated Warning: Master, this childish attitude does not facilitate a favorable impression."

"I don't know," Atton interjected with a shrug, "I find it pretty endearing, to be honest."

HK-50 ignored him. "Resumed Recitation: I then administered a large dose of sedative to the remaining miners in the med bay, enough to kill them but ensure you slept peacefully."

"So what was the end goal here?" Atton seemed determined the keep the droid's attention on him. "If you had to stop the miners from selling her to the Exchange, who's in charge?"

"Answer: It is beyond the scope of my programming to probe the motivations of my clients." HK-50 pivoted away from Atton dismissively and refocused on Meetra. "In any case, my programming renders me incapable of revealing the identity of my client. I am free to say that my benefactor is both wealthy and very interested in possessing the last of the Jedi. Suffice to say that I am being well compensated for my services. You have been a difficult target to find, Master."

One side of Meetra's mouth curved up in a grim smirk. "It's a shame you'll have to go back empty-handed. There are no Jedi here."

HK-50 took a step forward, the clank of his foot against the floor as direct as any spoken threat. "Irritated Response: My patience is running thin, Master. I have verified your identity at multiple intervals since I began tracking you. You have been wandering the galaxy since the end of the Mandalorian Wars, leaving little record of your passage. It as if you did not wish to be found, by hunters such as myself, or more likely... the Jedi Order."

Meetra sensed more than saw Atton glance sharply at her at the droid's words, but she ignored it. That conversation was better saved for when they got out of the facility. She narrowed her eyes at HK-50 and shifted her weight to her back foot, squaring her shoulders and slowly settling into a more combat-ready stance. "Obviously, I didn't do a good enough job if you found me."

"Soothing Response: As I said, you were quite difficult to find, even with my considerable ability." The droid shifted, his blaster rifle gravitating between the three of them. "Authoritative Command: Now, Master, we will wait here for rescue, after which I will deliver you to my client." The barrel of the gun flicked from Atton to Kreia. "Decisive Statement: We will wait alone."

Meetra took a step forward, forcing the HK-50 to redirect the blaster toward her. "I don't want to fight you, but I won't let you hurt anyone else. We -" She gestured to her left and right with her vibrosword "- are leaving, without you."

HK-50 shook his head. "Resignation: Very well, Master. If inflicting pain is the only means to resolve this matter, then you leave me no choice." He made a sweeping gesture with one arm and the floating mines around him lurched forward, speed building rapidly as they advanced toward the three. Meetra dropped into a crouch, giving Atton a clear line of fire, and threw a hand out, drawing on the Force. It sang in her thoughts, soft and faint, but constant, and two of the mines sailed backward. Unfortunately, her aim had never been the best to begin with, made worse with time, and the mines went wide of HK-50, exploding against the wall to his right.

Atton made short work of the other mines, blasting both out of the air with well-placed shots, while Kreia advanced on HK-50. He fired a volley of bolts at her, forcing her to duck into one of the branching hallways for cover. Atton clipped the droid with another shot, drawing his attention, and Meetra took advantage of the distraction, launching herself forward, vibroblade thrust out in front of her. HK-50 attempted to pivot back toward her, firing wildly, but too late. She ducked beneath his guard and plunged the weapon into his mid-section. HK-50 shrieked, a garbled electronic screech, and shoved her away. Meetra hit the floor hard, breath rushing out of her.

The droid towered over her, vibrosword wavering where it was stuck in his chassis, and leveled the blaster rifle at her as she gasped and struggled to pull herself to her feet. She heard Atton shouting, his words drowned out by the bolts he fired on HK-50, and then a flare of blue light arced over her, striking the droid dead center. He stiffened and then seized, blue energy arcing along his frame, sparks fountaining out of each seam and segment they passed over. A high keening seeped from his vocabulator and the blaster rifle fell from his grip, clattering to the floor.

Finally able to draw breath again, Meetra scrabbled away from the malfunctioning droid. Atton appeared at her side and seized her arm, hauling her to her feet and pulling her further away from HK-50. A sharp stinging pain shot up her arm from where he gripped it, causing her to gasp, but she compartmentalized the pain, shoving it back as she let him push her behind him. HK-50 began to recover, his servos unlocking, and he struggled to reach for the blaster. To his left, Kreia leaned out from her hallway, hand outstretched, and another bolt of blue lightning arced from her fingers, striking the helpless droid. He seized again, body shaking uncontrollably, the thin shrieking forming barely coherent words. "Warning: Systems failing, Master!" A flurry of sparks exploded from behind his faceplate and he went still, frozen in place for a long moment, and then he toppled to the floor, the red light behind his optics fading out.

For a long moment, no one moved, all eyes fixed on the lifeless droid. Kreia broke the spell first, lowering her vibrocutter and emerging from her hiding spot. Atton jerked toward her, mining blasters raised, earning himself a disgusted look. "Put those away before you hurt yourself." He glared at her, but stayed silent and didn't lower the blasters. Kreia turned her sightless gaze to Meetra instead. "Our time was short before; any more we waste puts us further in danger. Rein your fool in and let us go."

Atton's eyes narrowed and his grip on the blasters tightened. Behind him, Meetra regarded Kreia warily. Touching another's consciousness was one thing; she'd encountered other species who could do it without the Force, but there was no question how Kreia had called forth that lightning. "Where did you - "

"This is not the time, nor the place for such a conversation." Kreia's mouth turned down, her displeasure evident. "If we are caught, there will be neither."

Meetra bit her lip, considering the old woman's words. It was true that whoever docked the Harbinger was likely closing in on them, but Kreia had become something dangerously unknown and she had Atton's safety to consider as well as her own. By the same token, Kreia's strength was clearly greater than hers at present, and perhaps the devil she knew was the best way to ensure that safety. She touched Atton's shoulder, wincing when the movement pulled at the wound on her arm. He saw the flinch and reluctantly lowered his blasters, turning his back on Kreia to face Meetra. "What's wrong?"

"I think it's just a graze." Meetra twisted her arm, revealing a tear in the sleeve of her miner's uniform. A short straight burn marred the skin beneath, a wet, almost waxy look to the wound. Painful, but not life-threatening, and certainly not the worst injury she'd had. The long scar from knee to ankle on her left leg, courtesy of a Mandalorian's vibrosword, still took that prize. Infection was a worry, but it could wait until they reached safety. She looked back up at Atton, who watched her with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. "I'll be fine... but she's right." She held up a placating hand as his eyes hardened. "Getting off this asteroid is what's most important right now, no matter how we do it."

He gave her a long look, and then exhaled heavily and nodded, earning a grateful smile. Kreia made a tutting noise and swept past them toward the hallway to the airlock. "At least one of you has sense. See to your wound. Then we must be off."

Meetra nodded and fished one of the medkit from a harness pocket. She flipped off the cap covering the needle, took a deep breath, and plunged it through the fabric of the miner's uniform and into her leg, gritting her teeth against the sting as she depressed the release. She pulled the needle out and tossed the cartridge aside, the little vial's contents already dulling the pain in her arm. Turning to her ruined sleeve, she tugged at the edges of the tear, eventually ripping a long strip free and shaking the leftover material off her arm. While she tied the makeshift bandage around her arm, Atton crossed to HK-50's remains. He gripped the vibrosword and braced a boot against the droid's chassis, pulling the weapon free with little struggle. He set it to the side and knelt next to the lifeless frame, digging through the droid's parts.

She joined him, picking her vibroblade up from where he'd laid it. "What're you doing?"

"Seems a waste leave behind anything we could use," he explained, separating HK-50's head from his chassis with a sharp snap. Meetra winced, the action ghoulish whether the deceased was human or not. "Her Royal Highness did a number on him, though. Might not be much to salvage." His fingers deftly rooted through the droid's core, pulling free a small oblong chip. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it carefully, and then he held it out to her. "Vocabulator looks intact, surprisingly. Could get a good price for it, in the right markets."

His practicality was surprising, and Meetra chuckled as she took the chip, slipping it into another harness pocket. Atton stood, glancing over Meetra's shoulder at Kreia, who still waited at the hallway entrance. Meetra followed his gaze, the momentary humor slipping away. "We should go. Before she decides to turn on us."

He looked back down at her. "You think she won't?"

The question was a valid one. She didn't know what Kreia was or what she was capable of, and trusting the old woman was a frightening proposition. Then again, what did she really know about Atton? Meetra glanced up at him, her gaze meeting his. Warm eyes and boyishly handsome features; a face that could hide a lot of secrets... but then again, so was hers. What did he know about her? How would he react if he found out who she was, what she'd done?

Atton tipped his head to the side, hair drifting over an eye, and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Meetra shook her head, glancing back over her shoulder at Kreia again. "I think we don't have a lot of options."

"For once, I agree," he said, sounding anything but thrilled. He gestured for her to lead and the two followed Kreia into the hallway, heading for the _Harbinger_'s airlock.


	10. A Silent Harbinger

The unease weighing heavily in Meetra's stomach didn't fade as the silence that pervaded the mining facility followed the group aboard the _Harbinger_. The unnatural stillness was laced with the idling ship's almost inaudible hum, but it only served to enhance the disquiet; a similar feeling to walking into an abandoned home and finding all the lights on. Seeing the warship so devoid of life was eerie, made even more so than the mining facility because Meetra had experienced the vessel fully-staffed. Previously, she hadn't been able to take two steps without someone dodging out of her way, either because they had their own suspicions regarding her identity or she simply moved too slowly for their liking. Even Jazala and Dekar, her constant escort, had acted like she was purposely trying to be in the way and underfoot.

Atton kept pace at Meetra's shoulder, every step punctuated with a thousand tiny movements: a short sharp turn of the head as he scanned the corridor, dark eyes flicking back and forth; hands tightening on the grip of the mining blasters, the pad of his right index finger tapping restlessly against the trigger guard; a muscle twitching along his jaw, giving away how tightly he clenched it. He caught her looking at him and raised an eyebrow. Meetra shook her head and offered a weak smile. He returned it, shoulders relaxing a fraction, and she felt her own small measure of relief. Atton's anxiety was as infectious as his confidence, and she was already high-strung from the _Harbinger_'s appearance and the fight with HK-50.

Ahead of them, Kreia slowed, coming to a stop when the corridor split into a three-way intersection. When Meetra and Atton caught up to her, she turned her sightless gaze on the former, a small crease between her eyebrows the only indication of her concern. "Something is wrong... I sense no one on board."

Meetra flinched inwardly at the proclamation, the little hope she had of finding any survivors shattering sharply in her chest, but she pushed it down again, locking it away for a more appropriate time. Next to her, Atton crossed his arms and snorted. "You 'sense no one on board?' Sense anymore assassin droids creeping up behind us?"

Kreia ignored him, continuing to speak to Meetra. "Everyone here has been slain."

Meetra forced herself to speak, forcing the words out of her throat like they were edged with sharp glass. "Everyone? You're sure?"

A long unblinking silence was her only answer before the old woman continued. "Strangely, there are few signs of battle." She indicated the hallway with a wave of her hand. "No carbon scoring, no blaster fire. This place has been hit by assassins of a different sort."

"Then what the hell are we doing on this ship?" Fear and anger crackled beneath the surface of Atton's snark. "We were better off in the facility!" He shook his head, rubbing at his temple with the heel of a palm. "You two are supposed to be Jedi? You're the worst Jedi I've ever met." Meetra opened her mouth, the automatic correction already on her tongue before she had even fully processed his words, but Atton cut her off with a sharp gesture. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Spare me the semantics this time, okay?"

Annoyance felt more productive than anxiety or grief, so Meetra let herself focus on it, using the frustration to keep the more debilitating emotions at bay. "Oh, I'm sorry; here I was thinking you wanted off this rock. Maybe you'd like it back in your cell?"

"Maybe I would! At least I'd be safe there!"

"Yes, a perfectly safe death by starvation."

"Enough." Kreia's tone was even, but the sharp edge put an end to the exchange. Meetra deferred to the old woman with a slight bob of the head, while Atton appeared content to glare in silence. "We cannot go back into the facility, and presumably the assassin machine has prevented us from reaching the hanger..." She trailed off, the crease on her forehead deepening.

"Don't expect me to fly this thing," Atton said quickly. "Even if I could, do you know what kind of welcome we'd get if we docked with an abandoned Republic warship?"

Kreia lifted a hand in his direction. "Be silent. I need some time to think."

He scowled at her, then turned and crossed to the far wall, leaning back against it, arms folded over his chest. "Great, let us know what you come up with. We'll just be waiting over here for the next thing that wants us dead."

"The fuel line." Atton and Kreia both turned to look at Meetra, confusion mirrored on their faces. "When the ship docked, I saw a fuel pipe extend from the facility. I assume it's an automatic process, which means it might still be attached."

Atton raised an eyebrow. "What's your point?"

"We may be able to use the fuel line to get around HK-50's contingencies. If we follow it back to the facility, there's a chance we could get into the hanger." Both of them were openly staring at her now, Atton with his mouth open in disbelief. "C'mon, it could work. As long as the ship is no longer refueling and no one follows us, where's the danger?"

"I'd say you've lost your mind, but then I'd be repeating myself," Atton said, a strained chuckle following the words.

Meetra managed a small smile. "That's why it'll work. There's no way HK-50 could have planned for this."

He shook his head and leaned away from the wall, rejoining the two women in the center of the corridor. "Look, I don't mean to cast a shadow on this, but even that did work, it wouldn't matter. Remember the drift charts? No ship in the hanger is going to have the updated ones, so unless you want to have the shortest flight out of Peragus ever recorded, we're still stuck."

"But the _Harbinger_ does," Meetra pointed out. "Otherwise, it couldn't have docked." She looked back and forth between her companions. Kreia seemed pleased, a tiny half-smile at the corner of her mouth, while Atton, though clearly reluctant, nodded in acknowledgement. "Let's focus on the problem we can solve. Without the drift charts, getting to the hanger means nothing."

Atton switched both blasters over to one hand long enough to run a hand through his hair. "Well, we'd have to get to the bridge. I mean..." He shook his head. "Well, that's the biggest problem I can see. That we can solve, anyway."

Kreia nodded, the motion conveying a sense of finality to the matter. "That is a sound plan - for the moment. Let us go." She gestured for Meetra to lead, a hint of impatience in the movement. "Our enemies gather while we wait here."

Meetra took a deep breath and nodded. "To the bridge, then."

"All right... but this won't end well. Trust me," Atton warned, but he fell in behind Meetra as she moved out into the main corridor. The ship's nooks and pathways were still fresh in her mind, despite the gaps between her days on the _Harbinger_ and arriving at Peragus - the bridge was only a short distance forward from the airlock. She scanned the hallway as they walked, searching for any clue to the ship's current state. The corridor was pristine, as devoid of leads as it was of life. As they approached the door to the bridge, a sense of dread crept up her spine and into her chest, and she hesitated before cycling the door. Some part of her warned that as long as the door stayed shut, she could turn around and return to the facility, leaving the mystery of the _Harbinger_'s crew unsolved; she wasn't sure if it was her newly nascent connection to the Force, or just her own fear. "Meetra?" Atton's voice shook her out of her contemplation and galvanized her to action. She reached for the door's sensor, staggering backward into the rogue as it slid open to display a tableau of corpses from the threshold to the navigation console.

Atton caught her before she sent them both sprawling, the breath leaving him in a rush as he got his own look at the carnage. Black and orange-clad bodies covered the bridge's floor, each covered in numerous burns and slashing wounds. There was a manufactured feel to the way they were strewn about, as if they had been killed elsewhere and dumped here to preserve the ship's spotless facade. Even Kreia seemed shaken, taking a quick step back from the doorway. Atton was the first to break the silence, his voice a strangled whisper. "What the hell did this?"

"I suggest we do not remain long enough to find out," Kreia said, clearly having recovered her composure. She gave Meetra a pointed look before striding through the door, gingerly stepping around the carpet of bodies. Atton gently pushed Meetra back to her feet, grousing about the old woman's attitude under his breath, and followed Kreia onto the bridge. Meetra hesitated a moment longer, gathering herself. She'd seen death on a large scale before, even caused it during the Mandalorian Wars, but this... this was monstrous in its execution. None of these people had fought back, which meant they had either been incapacitated prior to their deaths or unaware of their assailants before the attack. Meetra took another breath and trailed after her companions, keeping her eyes averted so as not to catch a glimpse of dark curls or golden skin.

Atton was already at the navigation console, pulling the drift charts up and downloading them onto a small drive produced from a jacket pocket. Kreia stood near him, hands folded in the sleeves of her robe and head bowed so that her hood fell down over her eyes. She didn't look up as Meetra approached, and the latter chose not to disturb her, turning instead to an adjacent terminal. She called up the menu and selected the _Harbinger_'s holo-logs. When Captain Donshe's visage materialized in front of her, her chest tightened, but she quickly pushed it aside as he began to speak. "_... We have taken on passengers to Telos -_ "

He was interrupted by a female officer, her panic clear even through the wavy footage. "_Sir, we've just received an emergency broadcast - a freighter, under attack by Sith forces._"

Donshe frowned, his already lined face becoming more creased. "_Can you get an ID on the ship?_"

"_Yes, sir, we have its ID signature._" The officer handed Donshe a datapad. "_It's not in our databanks, but its profile suggests some low stock freighter... says it's being hit hard by a Sith warship._" Donshe didn't respond, his focus on the datapad, an intense expression on his face. The officer hesitated, waiting for a reply before she spoke again. "_Sir?_"

The captain's head snapped up, as if hearing her for the first time. He returned the datapad, his face becoming a passive mask once more. "_I'll need to confirm with Command before we intercept._" Meetra frowned as the log ended. Kreia had said nothing about Sith attacking the _Ebon Hawk_ or the _Harbinger_. She glanced over her shoulder at the old woman, but she didn't appear to have heard the log or noticed Meetra's attention. On the console, the next log began to play, revealing that Donshe had indeed brought the freighter aboard the warship. To her horror, he had also tethered the _Harbinger_ to a seemingly abandoned Sith warship. Meetra paused the log when Donshe attributed the collection of the _Ebon Hawk_ to an admiral's order. Jazala had let slip that an admiral was believed to have "requested" her presence back in Republic space. Possibly a coincidence, but still... She logged the possible connection away and let the logs continue.

The next log revealed that while no survivors had been discovered on either ship, a body had been found aboard the Sith warship. Donshe made his unease known, but gave the order the bring the corpse on board for autopsy. Hesitantly, Meetra selected the final log, a small tremor shaking her hands. Donshe appeared once more, looking more haggard then in the previous logs. "_... We're still experiencing a problems with the communications array, and now maintenance is telling me there's a cascade failure in the weapons sys -_"

"_Sir!_" Once again, he was interrupted by the same female officer from the first log. "_I just picked up an unusual sound from the medlab._" Tinny screams and the sound of glass breaking overlaid her image, followed by a gravely, unnerving voice: "_**I have come for the Jedi**._"

"_What the hell was that?!_" Donshe demanded, face pale even in the washed-out hologram.

The officer shook her head, the captain's intensity visibly heightening her panic. "_Sir, I... I don't know - communications just got cut -_"

Donshe turned away from her, moving with frightening purpose. "_Send a security team to the medlab! Now!_" The log dissolved into static, but Meetra continued to stare at the space it had occupied. Something had followed the _Ebon Hawk_ aboard the _Harbinger_ and attacked her crew; most likely it was responsible for the bodies piled around her feet. Kreia's words returned to her: a different sort of assassin. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the ends. Why could she not remember any of this? Clearly, she had found herself aboard the _Ebon Hawk_ before the _Harbinger_ had been attacked, but she had no memory of the event. It wasn't possible this had occurred without her noticing. Even with Jazala and Dekar steering her away from the ship's more clandestine areas, she would have had to be unconscious to miss the warship pulling a freighter on board.

"Alright, we're good to go here." Meetra started and turned sharply at Atton's voice. He gave her an odd look, but she waved him off before he could speak. He didn't appear to have heard the logs; probably best to keep her knowledge of Sith involvement to herself. She joined him and Kreia, and the three gingerly picked their way back across the bridge's macabre carpeting. Atton allowed Kreia to move ahead of him, falling back to keep pace with Meetra. "Are you alright? Looked like you'd seen a ghost back there."

"In a way," she said, purposely keeping her answer vague. The sour look he gave her in return actually pulled a small laugh from her. "Republic ships are all the same; you've been on one, you've been on them all. That's all it is."

"Sure," he said, and she could hear the uncertain note in his tone. While not a lie, it was far closer than she liked. They were supposed to be able to trust each other, and here she was keeping potentially crucial information from him; information that she was almost certain Kreia had kept from her. The thought didn't sit well. Atton was still watching her and she fought the urge to brush her hair forward like a curtain between them, settling for a quick flick of her bangs to break his gaze. He looked away, appearing to realize that he'd made her uncomfortable. "Hope this plan of yours works. I mean, I've always said a beautiful women would probably be the death of me, but this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Meetra rolled her eyes and turned to mock-glare at him, but a flicker of movement behind his left shoulder caught her attention. Atton followed her gaze, brows drawing in confusion when he saw nothing there. "What's wrong?" She ignored him, stopping dead in the hallway while keeping on eye on the spot. Ahead of them, Kreia had stopped as well, her vibrocutter held out in front of her defensively. Atton glanced back and forth between them, fingers tightening on the grips of the mining blasters. Meetra scanned the hallway, reaching for the Force more out of comfort than anything. She felt its faint warmth flow through her, heightening her senses and calming her nerves. She had almost convinced herself the movement was a figment of her imagination when she spotted it again, this time over Atton's other shoulder.

Her instincts kicked in and she lunged forward, vibroblade extended. She threw her free hand out toward the rogue, using the Force to push him out of harm's way, ignoring his shout of protest. Rather than colliding with the ship's corridor, her blade caught on something solid and thin, but unseen: a rod or pole. Using the crossed weapons as leverage, she shifted her weight to her back foot and kicked out with her free leg, aiming where a person's midsection would be. A disembodied grunt echoed off the corridor walls as her boot impacted against a hard surface, with a little give beneath it - body armor? The rod disappeared from beneath her vibroblade as the invisible assailant slid to the side, but she caught herself before toppling, backing away to put herself between the attacker and her companions. A sort of static fizzled in the center of the hallway; her opponent had a stealth generator equipped, likely damaged by the kick to the chest. Meetra darted forward, feinting low, and then swung her vibrosword high, slicing the blade along her assailant's chest. Sparks followed the blade, the static increasing dramatically. Gathering the Force to her, Meetra gestured and flung the attacker sideways into the corridor wall.

The combined force was too much for the stealth generator and it failed, revealing a dark-clad figure slumped against the wall. A hood covered their face, one of the red lenses over the eyes cracked from the impact with the corridor. One hand still clutched a long rod with a sharp point at each end. Taking advantage of the group's surprise, the assassin lunged upright, squaring up against Meetra. They spoke, an angry masculine hiss emerging from beneath the mask. "You go no further, Jedi. I will deliver your body to my master."

"What the hell is going on?!" Meetra ignored Atton's outburst, concentrating on the assassin. She stretched her senses out, pushing her limited power in the Force to its maximum. She couldn't detect any trace of power from him, but her instincts and his mention of a master screamed "Sith." An apprentice in training perhaps, or maybe just a fanatic. Either way, she didn't much care. Meetra lunged at the assassin again, aiming to knock the staff from his hands. He anticipated the movement and stepped out of her range, bringing the staff around in a low sweep toward her ankles. She sidestepped the weapons, backing off as Kreia swept past her.

Despite her blindness, the old woman attacked with precision and fury. She forced the attacker back, the vibrocutter moving impossibly fast in her hands. Though she couldn't see the assassin's face, Meetra could read his desperation in his movements. He continued giving ground with every attack, constantly defending without opportunity for a counter-attack. Kreia broke her attack for only an instant, waving her hand in a mimicry of Meetra's earlier gesture, slamming the Sith into the wall. Meetra felt the old woman's power ripple through the Force, almost staggering her. Kreia drove her weapon into her opponent's side through a gap in the body armor, with enough force to snap the blade from the hilt. The assassin cried out, body curling in on itself like a bug pinned to a collection board, and then went limp, his staff falling to the floor.

For a long moment, no one moved. Kreia stood over the dead assassin, breathing slightly labored, one hand held out toward the body as if she expected it to lurch back to its feet. Meetra held her defensive crouch, vibroblade held out in front of her. Behind her, Atton stood with his arms hanging loose at his sides, too stunned by Kreia's brutal assault to speak. Eventually, Meetra broke the silence, slowly straightening and lowering her weapon. "We could have gotten information from him."

"We now know we are not alone on this ship," Kreia said. Her voice was level and cool, sounding almost detached from the situation. "What more information do we need?" She tossed the useless hilt next to the body and scooped up the staff. She turned to Meetra and held it out, extending her free hand as well. Understanding the unspoken request, Meetra took the staff and gave the old woman the vibroblade. She twirled the staff once, finding the balance and weight much closer to what she had been accustomed to than the mining beacon. She nodded to Kreia, who gestured back down the corridor. "We must continue. Our time was already short."

The motion seemed to snap Atton out of his trance and he backed away from both of them, half-raising his blasters. He gestured at the dead Sith, forcing Meetra to lean to the side to avoid any accidental fire. "I'm gonna need an explanation, or you need to find another pilot."

Kreia's lips thinned, but Meetra ignored her. "He was Sith."

Atton's eyes widened. "What? No, the Sith are dead, just like the Jedi."

"I saw it in the ship's logs," she explained. "They encountered and boarded an abandoned Sith warship."

"Let me guess: not so abandoned."

Meetra glanced over her shoulder at the body. "So it would seem. Something... _else_... came back with them as well. It caused an emergency in the medlab."

Atton paled slightly. "Is it still here?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know."

"This is getting us no closer to our goal," Kreia cut in, the annoyance clear in her voice. "We have what we came for; I suggest we move quickly. It is not likely he was the last." She started off again, not bothering to see if the other two followed. Atton stared after her, then turned to Meetra. The distrust in his eyes was painful to see; the reluctant acceptance was almost as bad. Meetra opened her mouth, to apologize or defend herself, she wasn't sure, but he shook his head and turned away to follow Kreia down the corridor. Meetra trailed after him, doing her best to ignore the guilty pang in her chest.


	11. An Answer and More Questions

Meetra leaned against the corridor wall, taking advantage of Kreia's abrupt pause to catch her breath. It had taken them more than an hour to get halfway through the ship, and in that time they had encountered three more groups of cloaked Sith: two single assassins shortly after leaving navigation and a team of three fifteen minutes previous. Separately, the Sith were more than a challenge for her rusty combat skills and tenuous Force connection; three together would have killed her if she'd been alone. As it was, the last fight had done a number on the group. One of the assassins had slipped past her and Kreia and managed to clip Atton's left shoulder with a force pike before Meetra could push him away, leaving the rogue unable to lift his arm high enough to make use of the second blaster. Meetra herself had taken a boot to the knee, resulting in painful limp, and a shallow cut from a hidden knife complemented the blaster scorch on her arm.

Kreia was the only one of the three to appear uninjured, though Meetra had seen the old woman take at least as many blows as she had. It didn't slow Kreia down, however, and she refused to let the other two set a gentler pace. Glancing over her shoulder, the old woman's mouth thinned as her blind eyes settled on Meetra's slumped form. "Have our enemies agreed to allow us time to recuperate?" Meetra gave her a blank stare in return, refusing to rise to the bait. When a few moments passed without answer, Kreia turned away, no indication whether the lack of response upset her or not. "I suggest we continue." She started forward without looking back to see if the others followed.

Expelling a heavy sigh, Meetra pushed herself away from the wall and straightened as much as her aching body would allow. Atton hovered just behind her shoulder, doing his best to pretend nonchalance and not sticking close enough to catch her if she stumbled. Though she could no longer sense others' emotions, she didn't need her Force connection restored to know that he was still angry with her for withholding the information about the Sith, but he was also concerned about her. Likely for his own safety, but still. There was some comfort in knowing that at least one of her companions were concerned for her well-being.

Ahead of Meetra, Kreia ducked into a short side hallway and cycled the door at the end of it. It opened into a wide room dominated by a long table in the center, surrounded on all sides by chairs placed an equal distance from each other. The three fanned out slowly, watching carefully for the telltale subtle flicker of the assassins' cloaking devices, but, to Meetra's relief, they appeared to be alone. Instinctively, she sank into the nearest chair while Kreia continued to prowl around the room and stretched out her injured leg. She muffled a hiss when pain lanced up through her knee and into her thigh and mentally added pulled muscles to the list of cuts, burns, and torn ligaments. Idly, she thumbed the harness pocket housing the medpacks, but decided against pulling one out. There were few to begin with and she would rather have them if something worse than the assassins was still lurking aboard the _Harbinger_.

"You alright?" She glanced up at Atton, still feigning only mild interest, and waved him away with a weak smile. Tired and hurt as she was, the idea of spending more time than absolutely necessary aboard the dead battleship made Meetra's stomach clench.

Kreia rejoined them, satisfied with her exploration, and made a sharp gesture toward the door. Suppressing a pained groan, Meetra gathered her legs beneath and started to stand, but Atton gently pressed her back down with a hand on her shoulder. When Kreia raised an eyebrow, he shrugged with his good arm. "I think we can spare ten minutes."

"Our pursuers will thank you when they catch up to us."

"You think we're gonna make any better time if one of us has to carry her?" Meetra grimaced, but she couldn't deny the truth of Atton's words. Medpacks would allow her to ignore the pain for a while, but without proper attention, her knee would eventually give out regardless and then she'd be even more of a liability. Atton dropped into the chair next to her with an air of finality and waved at the doorway. "That's the only way in. With the door closed, we'll know if those Sith bastards are here, even if they're invisible. A ten minute break isn't going to make the situation better or worse, but if you think you can make it out of here without us, by all means." He folded his arms over his chest and met Kreia's glare with his own.

After a long moment, during which Meetra was unsure if the old woman would back down or go for Atton's throat, Kreia made a quiet noise of disgust and turned away, moving to sit at the end of the table furthest from them. Atton rolled his eyes and swiveled his chair to put his back to her, bringing him to face Meetra. "You need help with that?" he asked, pointing at her knee.

"Only thing that'll really help is getting off it," she said, "but thank you for offering." A moment of hesitation, and then she continued. "And thank you for getting me a break."

"Who said it was just for you?" His tone sounded offended, but it was just over the top enough for Meetra to realize he was joking. "Just like a Jedi to be so self-absorbed." He grinned and leaned out of the way when she swatted at him half-heartedly, then grimaced as the motion tugged at his shoulder. Meetra started to apologize, but he held up a hand and shook his head, turning instead to inspect a small console set in the center of the table. "Think this has anything useful on it?"

"Maybe - probably not, though," Meetra admitted. "It's probably older than anything on the bridge terminals." She purposefully didn't broach Atton's reaction to her delayed revelation of the information from said terminals and noted that he did the same.

"Can't hurt to check." Atton flipped through the first few logs, but they all appeared corrupted, shot through with too much white noise to even make out the audio. The last one, however, started to clear up after it began. Captain Donshe's visage gradually materialized, mid-conversation.

"_... wanted to check with you, sir, before diverting course from Telos._" There was a strained undertone to his voice, but nothing like what Meetra had heard on the logs in navigation. Definitely before whatever had slaughtered the ship's crew. "_There appears to be some battle that has taken place in the sector, and we've received a distress signal._"

The feed switched to display a younger man roughly Meetra's own age, maybe four or five years her senior. His dark hair was swept to the side, bangs hanging loosely over his brow, though not as long as Atton's. A goatee covered the lower part of his face, giving him a roguish-look that clashed with Donshe's deference. Meetra vaguely recognized him from the little information that had disseminated to the Outer Rim since her departure from civilized space - Carth Onasi, a Republic pilot and allegedly one of Revan's companions during her reappearance five years previous. "_You have permission to divert course, Captain. If there's a Sith presence in the region, I want you to investigate._" He paused and Meetra was startled by the naked hope that flashed across his face. "_The ID signature on the freighter… did you get confirmation on it?_"

If Donshe saw the desperation in the other man's eyes, he didn't give any indication, either oblivious to it or tactfully ignoring it. "_Yes, sir. We did not have the vessel listed in our databanks, so we transmitted the code to you - was there a match?_"

Carth nodded, but Meetra noted he was careful to keep his emotions in check this time. "_There was, Captain. If you find any trace of that vessel - even wreckage, I want it._" Donshe saluted in affirmation, which the younger man returned before continuing. "_After you have investigated the sector, resume course to Telos with the passenger._" Meetra's eyes narrowed at the veiled mention of her person. "_It is of the highest importance that she reach Telos._"

"_Yes, sir. I'll make sure she arrives intact._"

"_Good hunting, Captain. Admiral Onasi out._" Meetra kept her face blank, but inside her chest clenched tightly. If Carth, another person who knew and traveled with Revan for an extended period, was the one who wanted her found and brought out of exile, the implications scared her. Nothing from that part of her life was anything she wanted to revisit.

The hologram flicked back to Donshe, who let out a strained sigh. "_Sometimes I wonder if the right hand of the Republic knows what the left hand is doing. I'm always being kept in the d-_"

HK-50's visage materialized next to Donshe, and Meetra and Atton started simultaneously. "_Query: You sent for me, Captain?_"

Donshe nodded absently at the droid. "_Yes, I need you to check on the passenger again, see if there's anything she needs. Try not to be too obvious about it. Her safety is our top concern._"

"_Statement: I shall use the 'utmost' discretion, Captain._" Meetra shivered at the implied sarcastic undertone to HK-50's words. Donshe seemed oblivious, however; no wonder the droid had been able to incapacitate the ship so easily. "_As always, it is my pleasure to serve._" The log cut off abruptly, the rest dissolving into static.

Atton sat back, scowling at the space the hologram had occupied. "Can't say I feel bad for turning it into scrap."

"I just wish we'd found out who he was working for," Meetra said, though she was only half-present for the conversation. Her thoughts chased the new revelations the holo presented, circling round and round in a dizzying loop. Carth was almost definitely the admiral who had ordered the _Harbinger _to collect her from Belsavis, but she couldn't fathom why. She'd never met the man, even before her exile to the Outer Rim, as least not that she could recall. Had he been a member of the Republic troops during the Mandalorian Wars? He was old enough…

Atton's voice pulled her back to the present in time to catch the end of his continued musing on HK-50. " - could it have gotten from here to Peragus? I mean, this ship just arrived and that rustbucket was here for days."

"A question I'd like the answer to as well," Meetra said, casting a sideways glance past Atton to Kreia's back. The maintenance and security officer's logs had indicated that HK-50 had arrived on Peragus aboard the _Ebon Hawk _along with her and Kreia. How the three of them had ended up on the freighter was still a frustrating blank.

As if in response to Meetra's comment, Kreia stood abruptly and swept past the two toward the door. "You have had your ten minutes. Any longer and we may as well save these assassins the trouble of ending our lives themselves."

Atton turned his glare on her, but Meetra nodded and pushed herself to her feet without complaint. Her limp was still pronounced, but her knee felt marginally better; well enough to continue on for a bit, at least. Atton stood with her after a moment's hesitation and the three slipped back out into the _Harbinger_'s main corridor. They moved forward slowly, all on high alert, but as they continued deeper into the ship's inner workings, Sith assassins no longer lunged from the shadows.

A few scattered bodies began to litter the corridor as the ship's hallways began to seem more familiar to Meetra, and with a jolt she realized they had crossed into the crew quarters. Most of the dead here had their faces obscured by helmets or lay face down, for which she was reluctantly grateful. Kreia led them through without pause, unfailingly stepping around any bodies rather than over them; an unspoken gesture of respect, perhaps. Meetra and Atton mirrored her, careful to give the corpses as much of a wide berth as possible.

Crossing another bulkhead threshold, a wave of deja vu stuck Meetra and she found her feet carrying her to a small door off the main path without her realizing it. Rather than stop her, Kreia turned to follow her, as if realizing the younger woman was being driven by something more than curiosity. When Meetra stopped in front of the door, Kreia gave her a searching look. "Are you alright?"

Meetra shrugged, unsure how to articulate the anxiety churning within her. Despite her annoyance over being taken hostage, albeit politely, her quarters had come to feel like a long-overdue respite from the last decade of nomadic travel. She'd felt a measure of security here, more so than she had since her exile, and the knowledge that that sense of safety had been an illusion was a painful thing to reconcile with. Still feeling Kreia's eyes on her, Meetra offered her the simplest answer: "These were my quarters."

"This was your room? When?"

Meetra flinched at the accusation in Atton's voice, the confused undercurrent adding a second layer of guilt. She let out a weary sigh and made herself turn to face him. "Before I lost consciousness and woke up on Peragus… I was here. My presence was 'requested' on Telos, and the _Harbinger _was sent to deliver me."

"The VIP they mentioned - that was you."

"Apparently."

"Why - "

"I don't know." She tossed her hands up when Atton narrowed his eyes. "I have no idea, but the Republic went to a lot of trouble to find me: diverted a battleship, sent a squad of soldiers to escort me aboard, and gave me my own quarters." Meetra folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself slightly. "I'm not really sure I want to know why."

Atton stared at her in silence, mouth slightly hanging open. She felt bad for her outburst, but it felt good to express the unease rather than keeping it bottled up. Behind her, Kreia cleared her throat softly to ease the uncomfortable tension. "We do not have much time. Whatever you intend to do, do it quickly."

Meetra nodded and cycled the door, crossing hesitantly over the threshold. The room was as she remembered: a spartan affair with two simple bunks, a pair of adequately comfortable couches, and a footlocker on each side of the room. She'd been the only occupant of the room for her short stay aboard the ship; only now did she wonder if there had been another crewman or two, who, whether voluntarily or by order, gave up their living arrangements to accommodate her. Pushing the thought away, she crossed to the footlocker on the far side of the room and lifted the lid, pulling out both objects contained within.

Kreia and Atton came in behind her, but Meetra ignored them as she turned the armband over in her hands. A thin curved plate of red-tinted metal backed with a slightly thicker piece of bantha leather layered over soft cloth and a sturdy elastic thong, she'd worn the band from her first campaign during the Mandalorian Wars to the day of her exile, and still she'd kept it with her, taking care to protect it from rust and disrepair. Her name and rank were etched on the metal in neat lettering, the slight unevenness to a few of the letters the only indication that it had been done by hand rather than machine. A gift given in friendship; a reward for loyalty; a reminder of the pain she'd caused.

Meetra slipped the armband into another pocket as her companions joined her, unwilling to face their questions, Atton's in particular, and picked up the second item, a datapad, as she straightened. Unlike the band, it had come into her possession after boarding the _Harbinger_, a loan from the captain to keep her informed and entertained during the journey to Telos. She turned the device on and the screen flickered to life, a notification glowing in the center, the words oddly familiar: _Meetra Surik, you are requested to report to the _Harbinger _medical bay for routine examination. The routine is automated: simply insert this datapad into the medical computer to receive your injections._

"'Routine,' huh?" Atton said, reading over her shoulder. "Why do I get the feeling that's not what happened?"

"I… I think I remember this," Meetra said, squinting at the datapad. "At least, a little. I know I read this, but after that - nothing. Presumably, I went to the medical bay; whatever happened to me must have happened there."

Atton watched her face for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "How far is it?"

Meetra glanced up at him, brows lifted in surprise at the unspoken offer in his words. "Not very. It's just past the next bulkhead."

He tapped the datapad, clearing the notification from the screen. "Don't read too much into it, Jedi. i just want to find out if there's someone else out there besides that scrap heap in the communications blister."

She let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze, both amused and exasperated by Atton's refusal to admit he was being nice for no other reason than he wanted to help her. Behind him, Kreia's expression soured and she retreated back to the corridor to wait for them. Meetra tucked the datapad into her harness belt and scooped her staff up from the floor where she'd set it down. "I guess we better get going."


	12. Real Bad, Real Quick

The trek to the medbay was blessedly free of both corpses and Sith assassins, and the three arrived unscathed. As they entered, another wave a familiarity washed over Meetra, fuzzy memories rising to the surface: a hazy image of placing a datapad in the medbay's central console; the warped view of the room from inside a kolto tank; an indistinct voice speaking to her, but without weight behind the words. She stumbled forward, but caught herself before toppling and pressed the heel of her free hand into her temple, as if the pressure could squash the sense of deja vu.

Kreia stepped past her without a word, but Atton paused at her shoulder, an eyebrow raised. She answered the unspoken question with a nod and shook her head to clear it, looking around the medbay with a more focused gaze. Kolto tanks lined the walls, all empty but still functioning. Had they the time, she would have suggested they take advantage of the tanks' healing properties, but for now medpacs would have to do. The medical console sat in the center of the room, which was further divided by a larger tank in the center of the medbay toward the northern exit. The tank's glass had been shattered, pieces scattered all around the platform and the liquid long since dried.

Atton knelt near the remains of the tank and carefully lifted a shard of glass, examining it slowly. He stood and circled the pillars supporting the platform, his expression growing more troubled with every step. By the time he returned to Meetra, his anxiety was palpable. "I don't know who… _what_… was in there, but the glass broke from the inside." He made a fist, then spread his fingers outward to illustrate his point.

The implication was sobering. Simply due to their function, kolto tanks were built to withstand the pressure and the flailing of the occasional alarmed occupant; the force required to shatter one, from the inside no less, should have been more than anyone requiring the use of the tank would possess. Unsure what to do with the information, Meetra turned back to the central console. If there were any answers to be found, the terminal would have them. She pulled the datapad free of her harness belt and slid it into the port on the side of the console. Pulling the command screen up as the machine whirred to life, she selected the treatment request query when it appeared at the top of the list.

The screen flickered once, two lines of text replacing the command list: _Meetra Surik Treatment Request: Sedatives administered during routine examination 3.5 days ago. Emergency override enacted. Dosage exceeds safety protocols. _Meetra sighed and shook her head, a small part of her darkly amused by the revelation. "At least he was consistent." At her shoulder, Atton gave her an odd look, but she waved it away, a wry smile twisting her mouth. "That's one question answered, at least." She brought the terminal back to the command screen and selected the first of three holo-logs.

The image of a woman with close-cropped dark hair took shape above the terminal, her expression pinched and anxious. Her voice emerged from the sea of white noise, sounding as exhausted as she looked. "_Something's wrong. Ever since we picked up that Sith firefight in the region, crewmen haven't been reporting for their shifts and I can't reach people on the comm._" She glanced around, and even in the opaque recording, the paranoia was evident in her eyes. "_The strange thing is, I keep feeling like someone's watching us, here in the ship, but I can't see anyone… I don't like this._" The image fizzled out in a burst of static, leaving Meetra with a heavy weight in her stomach. She exchanged a look with Atton, saw the same pity reflected there. Kreia, appearing uninterested in the logs, continued to prowl the room, but the old woman's sightless gaze never strayed far from the shattered kolto tank.

When Meetra made no move to continue the logs, Atton reached past her and selected the next one in the list, rematerializing the medbay office above the terminal. She still looked tired, though some of the fear had faded. "_Checking the survivor from the Sith vessel - I'm not sure whether he's alive or dead, or what's even keeping him together._" Across the room, Kreia finally paused, but did not look away from the broken tank. "_His flesh is cracked and scarred, and I'm registering several thousand fractures in his skeleton, as if each bone was splintered repeatedly over time… and then put back together._" She winced, as if the act of describing the wounds caused her physical pain. "_Judging from the scar tissue, I believe these wounds took place before his death. If so, he must have been in constant pain. I have no idea what's been keeping him together._" Once more, the log faded into white noise, and then vanished entirely.

A sense of dread replaced Meetra's horror, but, as if she had no control over her own limbs, she still reached out and selected the last log. The medbay officer appeared for a final time, blood caking the front of her uniform. She clutched her shoulder, a dark stain spreading beneath her hand as her arm hung limp and useless. Sweat beaded her forehead and slicked her skin, and panicked tears welled in her dark eyes. "_This is the medical officer. The soldiers sent to the medical bay have just… died._" She paused, gasped for breath. "_I don't know where the subject went - I think he's gone to find more of the crew. With him are Sith… they just appeared right out of thin air, like they were wearing stealth generators, but… I think they were always aboard. When we stopped to pick up that freighter, they must have come on board the _Harbinger." Terror drove the pitch of her voice higher. "_I have no idea how many are on the ship… there could only be a few, or as many as a hundred. And with communications cut off, we can't call for help._"

"He trapped them here." When Atton frowned, Meetra quickly explained. "HK-50 told me he incapacitated the _Harbinger _to capture me, but I don't think he knew about the Sith. A happy accident for them."

"Now I really don't feel bad about sending it to the scrap heap."

The medical officer continued to speak, fear etched in each line of her face. "_I think that … _thing_… in the tank was a Sith Lord… alive the whole time, waiting for something to wake him up._" As the log ended, Kreia's blind eyes finally shifted from the tank to settle where the hologram had been.

Atton staggered back from the console. "A Sith Lord?!" His voice bounced up several octaves, threatening to crack on the last word. "What the hell did we get ourselves into?" A strangled, near hysterical laugh pulled itself free of his chest. "What am I saying? What the hell did you Jedi get _me _into?"

Meetra barely registered his outburst, transfixed by the console's screen. Though the last log had ended, footage from the medlab's security cameras, perhaps queued up to begin after viewing the holos, began to play. The large central tank was restored now, a figure floating in the liquid within. Humanoid and male in appearance, he was tall, easily approaching two meters in height with a broad and muscular frame. He was shirtless, save for a ratty sleeve covering his right arm from hand to bicep; his lower half was clad in tattered fabric breeches and scuffed knee-high leather boots.

It was easy to see why the medical officer had been unable to discern whether the man was alive or dead. Every inch of exposed skin was gray and desiccated, covered with thick ropey scars that intersected and overlapped endlessly. Deep fissures broke through in places along his chest and shoulders, revealing dark necrotic muscle beneath, but his face was the worst. He was completely bald - not shaved, but hairless, the follicles long since shriveled or covered by thick scar tissue. A large portion of skin had sloughed off around his right eye, including the lids, revealing a sightless white orb surrounded by decayed flesh. The skin around his nose and mouth was impossibly taunt, his lips pulled permanently apart to expose tombstone teeth stained brown with age and rot. His intact eye was closed, a long fissure from his forehead to his ear running across it.

Another medical officer, a human man with short light hair, crossed the corridor in front of the tank, his posture relaxed. As he passed, the… man… in the tank twitched, his mouth opening and chest expanding in a short, silent gasp. The officer turned quickly, his confusion and uncertainty clear even in the grainy recording. He walked back to the tank, leaning forward to peer through the glass, and the creature within jolted awake. The recording was soundless , but the rage on the scarred man's face as he opened his mouth in a silent roar chilled Meetra to her very center. The medical officer jerked backward, cowering with his hands over his ears as the Sith Lord's mismatched gaze fell on him, and then fled as the kolto drained from the tank. The monster dropped to the platform, far more gracefully than Meetra had in her tank on Peragus, and lunged toward the glass, shattering it as he leapt free. He straightened and stalked after the officer, the security feed ending just after he vanished off-screen.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Meetra's mouth was so dry she wasn't sure she could; her tongue felt fused to the roof of her mouth and thick cotton filled her throat, choking down her words. Behind her, Atton had gone pale, mouth opening and closing silently. Eventually, he found his voice. "We're dead."

"Only if we remain here." Meetra tore her eyes from the terminal's screen to meet Kreia's unseeing gaze. The old woman appeared as unflappable as ever, despite hearing the female officer's logs.

"Kreia, he could be anywhere." Meetra hated how small her voice sounded. She was a veteran of a sixteen-year war, trained by some of the greatest masters of the Jedi order; she shouldn't be scared of a single Sith and his cloaked toadies… but it didn't change the fact that she was.

"All the more reason to move on," Kreia said pointedly. "Do you recall how much further to the fuel lines?"

"You can't be serious." Meetra flinched at Atton's outburst, while Kreia, in a rare display of emotion, pursed her lips. Ignoring their reactions, he continued. "That monster is a Sith _Lord_; neither of you even have a lightsaber."

"Then we should move quickly."

"We're not far," Meetra interrupted, desperate to prevent an argument. "Two more bulkheads should put us at the engine deck. We can easily get to the fuel lines through a maintenance access there."

Kreia wordlessly gestured for her to lead and, with a clear goal to temper the tide of her fear, Meetra found her limbs still obeyed her. She headed for the medlab's northern exit, skirting the broken kolto tank as Kreia fell in behind her. When she reached the threshold of the room, she glanced back to see Atton still standing at the terminal, frozen, gaze locked on the console's screen. "Atton?"

He jerked his head up, eyes wide and wild as they met hers. The fear there magnified her own, but also galvanized the part of her that needed to protect; the part, objectively, responsible for the two decade-old decision leading to her current situation. Ah, well. Old habits. She tipped her head toward the exit and relaxed a bit when the reluctant acceptance slid across his face, though it came with more than a little guilt. Atton sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he crossed the lab to join them and the three moved back out into the _Harbinger_'s corridors.

They passed through one bulkhead without incident, but a sense of uneasiness began to settle in Meetra's chest. She recalled the medical officer's sense of being watched and slowed her steps, scanning the hallway carefully. A slight blur to the air in front of her was her only warning and she barely had to time to shout before it surged toward her. Knee screaming in protest, Meetra threw herself backward, a loud smack echoing in the corridor as the unseen assailant's weapon hit the floor where she'd stood. She swung her own staff, impacting her attacker's shoulder with a satisfying thwack. Boot soles skidded against the floor as he slid backward and she took the opportunity to swing her staff in a downward arc, aiming roughly for a head or chest. The assassin blocked, recoil shivering down Meetra's arms as the staves slammed together.

Kreia's vibrosword flashed from Meetra's periphery, sliding between her and the attacker. Despite being unable to see, the old woman's aim was true. The assassin let out a strangled shout and toppled backward, Kreia's blade sliding free with a new coat of blood. She gestured and the unseen body flew sideways, thudding into the corridor wall with a crunch and sickening crack. There was a fizzle of electronic static and the stealth generator failed, revealing the black and red-clad form of the Sith assassin. His neck hung at an unnatural angle and Meetra was grateful she couldn't see his face.

Behind her, Atton shouted her name, and Meetra whirled in time to see him fall, knocked backward by another cloaked assailant. Drawing the Force to her, she threw her hand out, mimicking Kreia, and tossed the assassin away from the rogue. The attacker hit the floor hard, a grunt escaping him, and Atton, recovering faster than expected, pushed himself upright and fired toward the noise. Most of the shots hit dead center on the Sith's chest, shorting out his cloaking. One went high, shattering the left eyepiece of his mask as it passed through.

Meetra limped to Atton's side and took hold of his arm, helping him to his feet while taking care to keep pressure off his injured shoulder. "You alright?"

"Better than him." He turned, blanching at the sight of the other assassin. "Uh, _them_."

Kreia swiped her vibrosword clean on the hem of her cloak and then paused, head cocked to the side. From behind the group, further back in the bowels of the ship, there was a clatter; a single sharp rattle of metal against ceramic, quickly smothered as the silence rolled back in. The three hesitated, all listening intently, then Meetra touched Atton's arm, gently pulling him back toward Kreia. "We need to go."

They broke into a run, fear driving Meetra to push past the pain lancing up her leg. They passed through the second bulkhead, turning left through a door when she called it out. When it closed behind them, Atton turned and fired at the cycling mechanism, sealing them in the engine deck. Hurrying onward, they came to a three-way intersection and Meetra paused, searching her hazy memories for direction. Jazala - she pushed away the sharp pain in her chest that accompanied the thought of the young woman - had shown her a map of the ship's layout when Meetra had first boarded in order to familiarize herself with where she could, and couldn't, go. She started forward, Kreia following, but Atton caught her arm. "Wait a second."

"Do you require another rest?" Kreia's tone was even, but sarcasm oozed from every syllable.

Atton ignored her. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

The old woman audibly scoffed, but something in Atton's voice gave Meetra pause. His sarcastic bravado, whether genuine or a performance, was completely absent. In its place, a seriousness that was almost startling. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you feel it?" When she frowned at him, he waved his hands in an expansive gesture, frustration tightening his jaw. "Something's gonna get real wrong, real quick."

Even with her connection to the Force restored, Meetra could barely even sense Atton and Kreia, even with their close proximity; anything else was still beyond her. "How do you know this?"

"You don't survive on the Rim as long as I have without knowing when trouble's coming." The sudden hardness in Atton's eyes startled her more than the grim revelation itself. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Everything back there? Whatever's coming might be a thousand times worse. Trust me; when it comes to staying alive, I'm rarely wrong about these things."

"Then we'll be careful," Meetra said, holding his gaze and keeping her tone as even as possible. Part of her badly wanted to call the Force to her, to use it gently nudge him toward believing her, but that would require more power than she could draw, more finesse than flinging a body into a wall. She refocused on Atton, willing him to trust her over his instincts. "But we have to keep moving."

Seconds seemed to stretch into hours before he sighed and nodded. "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll even be grateful for it." She managed a weak smile, which he returned with a small chuckle. Feeling a bit more confident, Meetra took the lead again, moving straight through the intersection. Cycling through the door, they encountered another; a four-way split this time. This one Meetra recalled well enough. "Maintenance access is that way." She gestured toward the right-hand hallway, then to the door directly across the way. "Should be a terminal to unlock it through th -"

A presence washed over her, a chilly emptiness that froze her voice in her throat. It loomed behind her, not an absence of the Force but a subversion of her perception of it: cold where she felt warmth, darkness rather than light, nails on a chalkboard in place of soothing notes. She whirled, finding Kreia already facing the presence. Startled at her reaction, Atton turned back as well, a breathy curse escaping him.

At the far end of the corridor, in front of the door Atton had ostensibly sealed, stood the Sith Lord. In person, his body was even more horrifying. His sightless eye seemed to glow against his decaying skin, the exposed muscle and sinew torn and shredded in places. In his right hand, he held a slim metal rod - a lightsaber. He watched the group for a long moment, seeming to study them, and then he walked forward, his steps unhurried. When he spoke, his voice was gravel and glass, heavy and sharp in all the wrong ways. "I came to warn you, Jedi. You know not what path you walk."

"Warn me…" Meetra murmured, confused, but Kreia stepped between her and the Sith Lord, breaking the paralytic spell his appearance had cast.

"This battle is mine alone," the old woman said, her voice calm and firm. One side of her mouth quirked upward in a small smile. "I am not defenseless." She started toward the monster, brandishing her vibrosword with a small flourish.

"Kreia?" Meetra's voice was quiet, with a hint of panic at the edges. She took a step forward, hand unconsciously lifting to reach out toward the other woman. Kreia turned back as she passed the threshold into the corridor and gave her a genuine smile, the first since they had met.

"He cannot kill what he cannot see, and power has blinded him long ago." She waved a hand, as if instructing a child to go play outdoors. "Run. I shall be along shortly." With another gesture, she forced the door shut between them. She curled her fingers inward, warping the cycling mechanism in response. Kreia turned away, taking care to block Meetra's attempts to reach her through the Force. It would do her no good to have the younger woman's bleating distracting her.

She advanced on the scarred man, weapon held loosely to the side. He stopped as she continued toward her, head cocked to the side as he stared forward unseeingly. "I sense you, my Master. Faint… weak."

Kreia sniffed, annoyed. "Your senses betray you." Her steps were soundless; even the edge of her robe was silent as it brushed along the floor. "As you betrayed me."

The Sith began moving again, measured and precise this time. He was being careful. "After all that has happened, still you live." He chuckled grimly. "You are difficult to kill."

She smiled, as sharp and vicious as the sword she wielded. "For one as limited as you, perhaps. To have fallen so far and learned nothing - that is your failing." Kreia moved to the fringes of the corridors, careful to give the Sith a wide berth.

He reached the center and paused, swaying in place. His head swiveled slowly from side to side, bringing to mind the image of a radar dish. "The failure is yours. No longer do your whispers crawl within my skull. No longer do I suffer beneath teachings that weaken us." His voice grew louder with every word, anger and pride mingling so thoroughly it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. "And now you run in search of the Jedi. They are all dead, save one - and one broken Jedi cannot stop the darkness that is to come."

As he spoke, Kreia circled the intersection until she stood behind him. His words pulled a sneer from her. Once a fool, always a fool. "Perhaps. We shall see." Gripping her vibrosword tightly, she shifted her weight, pivoted on one foot, and swung the blade downward toward the scarred man's neck.

His reaction was instant. Lightsaber powering on with a burst of scarlet energy, he spun on his heel, ducking out of the blade's path as he swung his own weapon upward. Kreia released the vibroblade and threw herself backward, but too slowly. The beam sliced through the sleeve of her robe, severing her left hand at the wrist. She collapsed to her knees, clutching the wounded limp, but not a sound escaped her. To cry out would be giving the Sith a free follow-up at her neck. He stood before her, lightsaber held defensively in front of him. His head tipped to the side again, listening to pinpoint her location.

Inwardly shrieking, Kreia stood, holding her stump against her stomach. Though she was in agony, he had done her the favor of cauterizing the wound; at least she wouldn't bleed to death. As silently as she'd approached, she slipped away, vanishing into the corridor's shadows while the monster remained, his blind eyes still seeking her.


	13. So Close

"_Kreia!_" Meetra lunged after the old woman, but Atton grabbed her arm, yanking her back. She shook him off and started to dart forward again, only for him to catch her around the waist with his good arm, hauling her off her feet. Meetra thrashed, but her injuries and exhaustion coupled with the overall lack of upkeep had left her far weaker than she'd once been. Atton turned and deposited her, quickly pulling his arms out of her reach. He held them out slightly, as if he expected her to rush him. She tensed, ignoring the stab of pain that flooded her knee. "Move."

"Not happening." For the second time since they'd met, all joviality was gone from Atton's voice, his warm brown eyes gone dark and flinty. Even beneath his jacket, Meetra could see that his muscles were taunt; his frame almost quivered with tension. The skill Meetra had noted even when he'd been at rest was now on full display: his weight was distributed evenly, shoulders squared, arms extended but still loose. Even with her training, Meetra was sure she wouldn't win a physical fight.

Almost before she realized it, the Force surrounded her, its pure melody chiming in her ears. Was it louder than before? The sensation was so heady Meetra couldn't tell. It _felt_ like it would be easy to toss Atton aside and rip the door open. She didn't want to hurt him, but Kreia needed them… needed her. "I'm not leaving her."

"You heard her. She can take care of herself."

"She's an old blind woman!" Meetra's anger got the better of her, driving her volume higher; she tamped down the emotion, some of her old lessons still holding strong after a decade of disuse. "Atton, he'll kill her."

"We both know she's more than that." His face softened and he lowered his arms slightly, lifting his hands, palms out, towards her. "What if you get in there and distract her? Then she's dead for sure, and we probably will be, too. She made her choice; have a little faith in her."

The sense in his words cut through the rush of her connection to the Force, bringing Meetra back to herself. A wave of embarrassment and disappointment washed over her; she could practically hear Kreia's disapproval, mingling with the faint reproachful voices of her past. With it came guilt, and she was grateful Atton wasn't aware of how close she'd come to unleashing her frustration on him. Instead, she refocused the lingering power, reaching for Kreia's mind with her own. _Kreia? Kreia, can you hear me? _The answering silence was deafening.

Atton took her stillness for acquiescence and he tentatively relaxed. "Are we good?"

Meetra nodded and released her hold on the Force, sagging a little as exhaustion settled back on her shoulders. Her knee barely supported her weight and the blaster burn on her arm was beginning to sting again as the effects of the medpac started to fade. She fumbled with the pocket on her harness, pulling another out and popping the cap loose. Gathering her flagging strength, she stabbed the needle into her thigh, breathing a sigh as the painkillers started to do their job.

"How long do you think you can keep going?" She looked up to find Atton still watching her. His face was stoic, but the furrowed brows betrayed his concern.

"I'll be fine."

He crossed his arms over his chest, lips curving up in a smirk. "Let's try an honest answer this time."

Meetra glared at him, but he met her gaze without flinching. Resigned, she answered truthfully. "Half an hour; forty-five minutes at the most. After that, I'll just slow you down."

Atton was silent for a moment, then he nodded and strode past her, gesturing toward the room across from them. "Let's get moving. Maintenance console's through here, right?" Meetra nodded, trailing after him with a last look behind her. _Kreia… if you can hear me, please be safe._

The maintenance door was sealed, but Atton was able to hack it open with little effort. He dealt with the terminal in a similar manner, slicing easily through the encryption. His talent with electronics was genuinely impressive, and Meetra filed the knowledge away. With the maintenance access unlocked, the two headed back out to the intersection and down the hall Meetra had indicated earlier, passing through the bulkhead into another long corridor. Gradually, the steel and chrome gave way to thick metal catwalks, the ship's ambient lighting occluded by a deep red glow. To their right, the large ion engines loomed out of the darkness, inanimate monoliths towering over their escape.

Meetra located the main control panel for the engines, calling up the maintenance protocols after a quick search. The nearby bulkhead slid open, a new corridor leading to the fuel line. She started for the door, pausing when she noticed Atton had fallen behind again. His face had taken on a grayish pallor beneath the dim lights. "So, uh, any chance I can convince you _not _to go through with this crazy plan?"

"Trust me, if there was another way…" she trailed off, unsure how to further convince him. "I don't like this, either, so if you have another idea, I'm all ears."

He hesitated, gaze unfocused as he ran a hand through his already ruffled hair, and then shook his head. "Alright. But if - " Atton paused, a rueful smile stealing across his face, " - _when _something goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

She laughed, and there was a melancholy ring to it. "Fair enough, but that's a pretty long line you've joined." He tipped his head to the side, but Meetra turned away, irritated with herself for the slip, before he could voice the question she saw in his eyes. A conversation for another time. They were starting to form quite the list of those.

As distracted as she was, Meetra barely registered a tingling in her right hand before the pain hit. Like fire in her veins, it surged up her arm, suffusing her entire body, and drove her to her knees. A scream, raw and full-throated, tore itself from her chest, echoes bouncing back at her from between the ion engines. Dimly, she was aware of another voice, strangely familiar, shrieking along with hers. The pain coalesced into a white-hot point, searing her from the inside out, and a red haze blotted out her sight. Her sense of time receded, leaving her unaware of how long she crouched there, clutching her arm to her chest. Gradually, the sensation faded, her keening giving way to gulping sobs. The second voice grew fainter as well, replaced by Atton's panicked shouts. "Hey! Snap out of it!"

Her awareness began to return, the curtain of red pulling back from her vision. Atton crouched in front of her, gripping her arms just short of hard enough to bruise. He called to her again, giving her a gentle shake. Meetra managed to lift her head, finding him startlingly close. She blinked blearily at him as his face swam in front of her, but she managed to focus on his eyes, noticing flecks of hazel throughout the brown.

The act of noticing jolted her back to full awareness and she leaned away, startled. Atton loosened his grip, but didn't release her. "What the hell just happened?"

"I…" Meetra shook her head, squeezing her wrist. The pain had faded physically, but she doubted the memory of it would leave her anytime soon. None of her injuries, even the Mandalorian blade slicing through her leg, came close to that agony. She recalled the second scream, breath catching as she realized why it had sounded familiar. "I think it was Kreia."

Atton scanned her face, brows drawing downward. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, but… Atton, I think she's hurt, or - " She swallowed, as if the action would ease the panic rising in her chest.

His expression softened. "Ah, _druk_." He squeezed her arms once and then let go. Freed from his grip, Meetra had the sudden feeling of being untethered. "Meetra, I'm… Whatever happened, we can't waste this chance. She's buying us time; if we stay here, all of that is for nothing." Atton glanced back the way they'd come, face darkening. "And if Sleeps-with-Vibroblades is done playing with her, he'll be coming after us next."

Meetra was torn, but it was hard to argue with his logic. She nodded and Atton stood, reaching back down to help her to her feet. Her knee throbbed, the pain renewed despite the medpac's influence, and she instinctively leaned into his hold. He supported her weight without commenting on the weakness, for which she was grateful, only moving away when she did.

Meetra took the lead again and they passed through the bulkhead, entering into the thick line leading back into the fuel depot. The _Harbinger _had long since finished fueling, but a faint acrid scent hung in the air, adding to the already claustrophobic darkness. The two were forced to move slowly, Meetra squinting through the gloom to discern their path. Even so, she nearly tripped over a waist-high object, stumbling backward when it came to life with a high-pitched beeping. A soft light illuminated the fuel line, revealing a small battered droid - the source of the glow came from his disc-shaped head. The droid beeped again, interjecting a sharp whistle as he rolled back and forth.

"A droid?" Derision and disbelief warred for control of Atton's tone. "How did it get down here?"

Meetra knelt to the droid's level and put a calming hand on the top of his head, halting the torrent of electronic noise. "Slow down. Start over." The droid let out a short whirr, punctuated with several trills. Meetra's eyes widened, and then she smiled and patted him gently. "I'm glad you're alright."

Atton glanced down at her with a raised eyebrow. "Do you know it?"

"Remember the droid I contacted in administration?" She gave the little robot a last pat and stood. "It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Meetra; this is Atton." The droid chirped brightly, which Meetra translated for Atton. "He's T3-M4. Says he also had a run-in with our mutual assassin-droid friend." T3 burred sadly. "It's not your fault. Besides, we'd never have made it off that level if it wasn't for you." He whistled and beeped, ending on a short sharp trill. "Of course. Are you operational enough to travel?"

"Wait, wait." Atton moved to stand between Meetra and T3. "It's not coming along. How do we know it won't turn on us the first chance it gets?"

She frowned, confused. "Why would he?"

"It's a droid; they break." He spoke slowly, as though talking to a child. "That's what they do. Even if it isn't planning on killing us, I'd bet all my credits it'll get the job done."

"He's already helped us once. If he wanted to kill us, he would've left us trapped in administration." Meetra pointedly stepped around him. "I'm not leaving anyone else behind." Atton opened his mouth, but wisely closed it. T3's head swiveled back and forth between the two before giving a hesitant series of chirps, answering Meetra's question in the affirmative. She nodded and started down the fuel line again. "Good. Let's keep going." She risked a peek over her shoulder, breathing a small sigh of relief when Atton fell in behind her.

With T3 lighting the way, it was relatively easy to find the nearest maintenance exit and the three spilled out onto the service floor of the fuel depot, drawing to a halt at the sight of several smashed and shattered mining droid husks. Atton swallowed and shot her a sideways glance. "You, uh... you didn't do this, huh?"

"Maybe the miners? There aren't any bodies," Meetra said, but her half-hearted tone belied her confidence in the suggestion. They edged their way through the depot, finding more droid corpses scattered in all directions. T3 voiced his unease with a low whistle and Meetra dropped a reassuring hand on his head. "I know; me, too. We're almost there, though."

The dismantled droids began to drop off as they reached the hanger entrance and Meetra got her first look at the _Ebon Hawk _through the large view panel at the top of the ramp. The battered freighter wasn't much to look at. A Dynamic-class, it was shaped like a malformed horseshoe. The back of the ship was curved, while the cockpit stuck out from the front, a panel connecting it to the port side. Once painted in vaguely Republic colors, the orange had darkened and faded, the steel dingy and heavily pockmarked. It balanced on two large landing struts, the gangway jutting out between and in front of them. Despite its age and general wear and tear, the freighter still looked space-worthy.

Leaving her and T3 at the top of the ramp, Atton descended and crossed to the hanger door, cycling it fruitlessly. He grunted in frustration and aimed a kick at the door. Meetra peered over the side of the ramp at him. "What's wrong?"

"Door's magnetically sealed." He thumped a fist against the door, as if continued abuse would eventually convince it to open. "Our only way out is right there, and I can't get this thing open." He turned and leaned against the door, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Before Meetra could weigh the pros and cons of trying to pry the door open with the Force, T3 began to chirp and whirr rapidly, too quickly for her to catch more than a few words. He rolled past her to a terminal at the end of the viewing platform. A scomp link slid out from his chassis, the metal arm extending to connect to a port on the console's base. A cascade of text scrolled across the screen, faster than Meetra could process, and then the little droid pulled back the arm with a satisfied beep. Down below, the hangar door seal released with a loud thunk and cycled open, causing Atton to let out a short shout of surprise when it dumped him on the floor. Meetra peeked over the edge of the platform again, struggling to hide her amusement. "You alright?"

He glared up at her as he pulled himself upright. "Little tin can did that on purpose." T3 whistled indignantly as he followed Meetra down the ramp, but he kept her between himself and the rogue when Atton took a threatening step toward the droid. Meetra caught his arm and gave him an admonishing look, and, with a sigh and eyeroll, Atton turned back toward the hangar entrance. She limped after him, and the three made their way down to the hangar floor. The sight of the ship put a spring in Atton's step and he jogged the rest of the way to the _Ebon Hawk_, turning back to flash a cocky grin. "Want me to carry you over the threshold?"

"I'll manage," Meetra said, returning the rogue's suggestive eyebrow waggle with an unimpressed smirk. A sudden memory of hazel-flecked brown eyes flashed in her mind, rattling her, but she chalked it up to a decade of nomadic living. It had been so long since she'd been in close proximity with another person; no wonder it felt strange. T3 beeped softly, startling her out of her reverie, and she looked down to find the little droid's head swiveled up toward her. He repeated the question and Meetra smiled reassuringly. "Yes, I'm fine. Just… tired, I think."

"You can sleep on the ride out," Atton interjected, starting up the boarding ramp. "The longer we stay, the less likely we are to leave."

"What about Kreia?" Atton paused and looked back at her, impatience and resignation chasing themselves across his face. He opened his mouth, but Meetra headed him off. "I know what I felt, but… she _could _still be alive."

"Yeah, she could. Alternatively, that karking monster could be on his way here right now."

"I know," she said, ignoring the surprise that lifted his eyebrows into his hairline. "Start prepping the ship. If she's not here by the time we're ready to take off…" Meetra trailed off, forcing herself to compartmentalize her grief and frustration. They'd come too far for her to give in to her emotions now. "You're right; we can't stay here."

"I love it when you agree with me." Smug attitude firmly back in place, Atton continued up the ramp, walking backwards to keep her in view. "Keep it up and I might just have to -" He cut off mid-thought, staring past her at the hangar entrance with widening eyes.

Meetra followed his gaze and her heart stopped. There was a shiver of movement near the door, an unnaturally hazy sheen in the air. Another glimmered in her peripheral, followed by more along the hangar wall left and right of the entrance. As though following a silent command, the stealth generators shut off to reveal two dozen Sith assassins ringing the hangar, leaving the _Ebon Hawk _well and truly surrounded.


	14. Explosive Exit

For a long moment, no one moved.

The Sith assassins were almost statuesque, their red lenses appearing to glow beneath the hangar lights. The only sign of life among them was a small twitch of the wrist here, the faint rise and fall of a chest there. Sound seemed to have shorted out as well; the only thing Meetra could hear was the pounding of her heart roaring in her ears. Fear rooted her to the spot, drowning the lessons of her past urging her to move.

A flicker of movement caught her attention, drawing her eye to one of the Sith near the door. He tilted his head slowly, as if someone were whispering in his ear. He raised his staff a foot or so off the ground and held it there, going quiet again with his head still cocked toward the phantom voice. The anticipation accelerated Meetra's pulse further, every beat a hammer blow against her sternum. An unnatural dread crept up her back, settling in her chest and shoulders - all the warning her feeble connection to the Force could muster. The assassin held his pose for a second more and then he brought the staff down, the point creating a sharp ringing when it connected with the hangar floor. The sound was freeing, bringing the world back to normal speed. Several of the Sith surged forward in a black wave, the remainder tightening their half circle formation behind the forward guard.

"Prep the ship!" Meetra shouted, lifting her her staff defensively. Behind her, she head Atton's boots clatter against the the gangway and she breathed a small sigh of relief. At least she could trust him to act under pressure. She drew the Force to her, letting its warmth infuse her fatigued body and mind. The familiar and comforting melody, quiet as it had become, lent her confidence and strength, just as it had on the battlefield of Dxun long ago. Meetra thrust out a hand, focusing on a largish tool chest to her left, and attempted to fling it at the oncoming assassins. It was just the slightest bit too heavy, half skidding along the floor rather than flying through the air, but it got the job done. The approaching Sith scattered as the container landed among them. The majority fell back to join their companions' semi-circle, but a group of three continued their forward press. Meetra clenched her staff and pushed herself as deep into the Force as she could, preparing for an inevitable last stand, but a hail of blaster bolts came from over her shoulder and peppered the floor at the assassins' feet, sending them scurrying back into the ranks of their fellows.

Meetra risked a glance over her shoulder and saw T3 rolling down the loading ramp, the little droid bristling with weaponry. Two mechanical arms on either side of his chassis bore close-range deterrents - a small flamethrower and a taser respectively - and a compartment on the top of his disk-shaped head had slid back to reveal a modified blaster. He fired another barrage as he came alongside her, his high-pitched whistle a clear warning, and Meetra had to smile. Despite his size and original purpose, T3 had as many secrets up his figurative sleeve as any of them.

Static crackled in her ear, startling her - she'd long since forgotten about the commlink since reuniting with her companions. Atton's voice came through, tinny and interspersed with static. "Need a few minutes before I can fire up the engines. How we doin' out there?"

"Oh, you didn't hear?" Meetra gestured and sent an oxygen tank tumbling into the crowd of Sith. Most of them darted out of the way, but the projectile managed to clip one across the temple. He stumbled backward and dropped in a limp heap as the rest of the assassins' slid away from him. "Turns out, they've seen the error of their ways and we've reached an agreement: they're gonna go back to their ship and let us leave, and we'll both let bygones be bygones."

"Well, guess we won't be needing this laser turret, then." With a mechanical clatter and electronic whir, a hatch beneath the Ebon Hawk's cockpit slid open and the gun descended, unfolding out toward the bunched-together assassins. They scattered, shadows fleeing behind large containers and into far corners, as Atton began to fire, each heavy thunk of the turret releasing a massive bolt of energy. Several of the Sith were either too slow or too unlucky, the turret fire punching straight through their body armor. "I can't keep them occupied forever, so when you're ready to waltz on up that ramp, that'd be great."

"I'm sorry my willingness to defend our only way out with my life is an inconvenience." Atton chuckled, the sound low and shot through with static, and Meetra smiled. She took a step back toward the ramp, using her staff to tap T3's chassis and get his attention. "Time to go!" He chirped in acknowledgement and rolled backward, slipping past her to sit further up the ramp where he still had a clear shot while Meetra limped after him.

Taking advantage of the turret's limitations, one of the Sith darted out from the ship's far side, racing low to the ground beneath the gun's range and leaping up to the ramp. T3 squealed a warning a moment too late and the assassin slammed a shoulder into Meetra's, knocking her off balance. Her injured knee finally gave completely and she hit the ramp with a heavy thud, her staff jarred loose from her grip. T3 zipped forward, taser arm extended, but the Sith leveraged his own staff beneath the droid's treads, tipping him on his side. The assassin yanked the weapon back, flipped it around, and slammed the point down toward Meetra's chest, each movement blindingly fast. She tried to drag herself out of the way, managing to shift enough that the staff's point stabbed into her shoulder rather than its intended target.

A muffled curse slipped between her gritted teeth, but the tuneless song in her head kept her grounded through the pain. Meetra seized the staff, keeping it pinned in her body, and waved her hand in a swatting motion. The assassin flew backward with a shout, colliding with a large green cargo container and sliding bonelessly down the side. Clenching her jaw, Meetra yanked the staff free of her shoulder, a yelp escaping her before she could push it down. Her muscles burned, the sleeve of the mining uniform darkening with every beat of her heart, but she clung tighter to the Force, masking the pain and pushing it to the furthest corner of her consciousness. She pushed herself to her feet with her good arm and stumbled to T3. The little droid squawked and whistled, but she ignored his concern as she knelt next to him and leaned on his exposed strut, using her weight to flip him back upright. He continued to chatter, though his alarm was focused behind her now. Foreboding turning her insides to ice, Meetra risked a look back.

Faced with losing their quarry, the Sith abandoned safety, surging across the hangar en masse. Atton's aim was still true, most of the assassins falling to turret fire before they neared the loading ramp, but several were already too close for comfort and one or two were already past the turret's reach. T3 warbled at Meetra and gently rammed her uninjured leg with a strut, urging her to move. She snatched up the assassin's staff and used it as crutch, hobbling the rest of the way up the loading ramp while T3 covered her from behind, alternating laser barrages with generous sprays from his flamethrower. Once over the ship's threshold, T3 used his scomp link to interface with a port on the the inner frame and the hatch slammed shut behind them.

Several thuds echoed against the thick steel and turret continued to fire in muffled blasts.

Meetra sagged against the _Ebon Hawk_'s inner hull, her temporary strength beginning to evaporate, but T3 issued a sharp whistle punctuated with several trills: no time to rest. She followed him down the corridor into the ship's main hold, a large open area connected to the other sections of the _Ebon Hawk_ by thin hallways. The hold itself was as unremarkable and well-used as the ship's exterior, with a few spartan couches and tables ringing a large circular console in the room's very center. T3 led Meetra through without pausing, exiting the hold via the northern corridor. They bypassed a communications node full of flashing lights and assorted beeps, coming out into the cockpit where Atton sat in the pilot's chair, his hands dancing across the ship's controls. He glanced over his shoulder as they entered, eyes widening at the blood-soaked sleeve of Meetra's uniform. "What the hell happened?"

"A disagreement," Meetra said, limping across the cockpit to take the co-pilot's seat next to him. She sank into it, grateful for the chance to rest her knee, and propped her staff on the console as T3 rolled up between them. Atton glanced sideways at her, most of his attention still focused on shooting down Sith assassins. "You alright?"

"I'll manage."

"Well... don't bleed on the upholstery." Meetra snorted, prompting a quick grin from Atton. It disappeared as he refocused on the targets outside the ship. "_Druk_." Meetra followed his gaze to see another wave of assassins surge through the hangar entrance, blacking out the floor beneath them. Atton recalled the turret, fingers flicking over the _Ebon Hawk_'s console's with purpose. "Strap in! Unless you want a quick and painful trip back to the hold." Meetra obeyed, pulling the seat's restraints across her body while T3 locked his treads with an audible thunk. He let out a mournful burble and she patted his head, as much for her own comfort as the droid's. Another pass of Atton's hands and the ship's engines roared to life, the ship vibrating with the initial rumble.

The _Ebon Hawk _rose from the hangar floor, landing struts and loading ramp sliding back into their housings, and turned in place, its movements smooth under Atton's careful hand. The hangar door slid open, the automated system that allowed the _Harbinger _to dock providing their escape, and Atton eased the ship out, opening the thrusters wider as they cleared the hangar. The star-dusted expanse of space stretched out before them, marred only by slowly drifting asteroids, and Meetra felt her chest loosen for the first time since awakening in the kolto tank. With that relief came a sharp pang of guilt. If not for Kreia's sacrifice, their escape would have ended on the _Harbinger_. She closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to grieve for the old woman's loss, and the losses who came before.

A warning klaxon blared from the console, jarring Meetra back to reality, and Atton cursed, silencing the alarm with one hand while guiding the ship with the other. The _Ebon Hawk_ banked hard to port, slinging Meetra against her restraints and aggravating her shoulder. T3 shrieked as he slid into her chair, his treads scraping against the ship's floor. Outside the viewscreen, green laser bolts flew past, worrying close. "What's happening?"

"The _Harbinger_." Atton's answer was clipped, as if the act of giving it took away from the focus needed to avoid the warship's fire. "She's chasing us." He sent the freighter into a steep drop and Meetra's knuckles whitened as she clutched the arms of her chair, her stomach rising into her throat. Atton cut hard to port again and darted into the asteroid field, zigzagging between the rocks at an uncomfortable speed. The _Harbinger_'s fire followed them, the ship presumably close behind. "What did you do to make these guys so angry?! Besides the whole Jedi thing."

"I don't think they need more than that." She flinched as the ship veered unnervingly close to a particularly large asteroid. "What if we jump to hyperspace?"

"In this?!" Atton gestured at the asteroid field. "I mean, sure, entering hyperspace in half a million little pieces will stop them from chasing us. We have to clear the field first, but if we do, they'll have a clear shot at us."

"Could we jump before they hit us?"

"... How confident do you want me to be in my answer?" His jaw tightened as he put the _Ebon Hawk _through its paces, the freighter careening from cover to cover while the _Harbinger _loomed after it. "Look, we don't have a lot of options here. Option one: one of those shots hits us and we're like so much slag in the solar wind."

"Option two?"

"They hit an asteroid and the whole field goes up," Atton said. "Even refined, Peragus fuel is volatile. In its pure state..." He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging between them. "We might - keyword here, _might_ \- be able to use that to our advantage, but I don't know if we'd clear the field and jump in time."

Meetra chewed her lip, wincing when another of Atton's maneuvers threw her against the chair's straps and jarred her shoulder. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and a deep throbbing had set up in the muscles there, accompanied by a faint lightheadedness. The rational part of her identified the symptoms of blood loss from experience; she'd felt them more times than she cared to count during the Mandalorian Wars. The realization made her decision for her. "Option three."

"Care to enlighten me about this mythical third option?"

"We keep our distance until we can clear the field, then we jump to hyperspace." He gave her a sideways look, mouth pressed into a thin line. "It's less of a risk than blowing the field before we clear it, and _if_ -" She stressed the word, unable to stop herself from holding out the smallest bit of hope that Kreia had survived, "- someone is still alive on the station, we have to give them a chance." Meetra offered a weak smile and reached across to squeeze Atton's arm. "Besides, I've got faith in my pilot."

Atton glanced down at her hand and then back to her face, his ever-present mask falling briefly to show genuine surprise. Then he clenched his jaw and nodded. "Hang on. This isn't gonna be pleasant." Meetra pulled her arm back and resumed her death grip on her chair's arms as Atton looped the _Ebon Hawk _around an asteroid to gain speed and shot toward the far side of the field. The _Harbinger _followed, its bow cutting elegantly and ruthlessly through the black as it peppered the space around the freighter with emerald energy, but Atton held course. As they neared the edge of the field, one of the larger rocks drifted in front of them, forcing Atton to pull the _Ebon Hawk _up sharply to avoid it. As the freighter headed into open space, one of the _Harbinger_'s shots struck the asteroid dead center.

Meetra felt the explosion, the shock waves rattling the _Ebon Hawk_'s frame. More followed, a brilliant orange glow flickering at the edges of the viewscreen. As the glow brightened and the vibration grew stronger, Atton spun up the hyperdrive and space began to _lengthen_ around the ship. The orange light bled to the very corner of the viewscreen and the stars stretched into white smears. The gravity pressed Meetra back into her seat; at her side, T3 wailed, his treads squealing as they fought against the pull.

Gradually, the long white lines gave way to the soft blue glow of hyperspace and the g-force eased, and Meetra sucked in a deep breath, heard Atton do the same. They sat together in silence, staring blankly down the hyperspace tunnel. After a long moment, Meetra turned to Atton and found him watching her, the question on her tongue reflected in his eyes: _What now_?

"It seems even a fool has his uses."

Atton lunged to his feet, a mining blaster appearing in his hand as if by magic, while, Meetra, encumbered by her injuries and the seat's restraints, could barely crane her neck far enough to see over the back of the chair. "_Kreia?!" _The old woman stood at the cockpit's entrance, half hidden in shadow from the corridor behind her, but her dour expression was visible in the blue glow seeping through the viewscreen. Meetra extracted herself from the safety straps and staggered toward Kreia, leaning against one of the cockpit's rear passenger seats for support. Atton followed, reholstering the mining blaster, but he regarded Kreia with wary eyes. Meetra was simply relieved to see her alive. "How - when did you get on board?" She glanced down, voice dying in her throat when she saw the empty space beneath Kreia's left sleeve. "What happened back there?"

Kreia waved Meetra's concern away, a scowl twisting her lips at the note of pity in the other's voice. "We do not have time for questions. Our enemies will pick up our trail soon enough, and we must be ready."

"Not sure if you missed the light show, but that warship is slag, along with the rest of Peragus," Atton said.

Kreia regarded him with a sightless stare. "You think that will stop them?"

He glared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. The ghost of a sneer flitted over Kreia's lips in response. If Atton saw, he ignored it, instead turning so that he was facing both women at once. "Look, I've got us on course for the nearest populated planet - Telos, by the way, not that we have much choice with the _Harbinger_'s star charts - but it's going to be a little bit before we get there. And between assassin droids, a _Sith Lord_, and being target practice for a Republic warship, I think I deserve a few answers." He glowered at both of them. "So one of you tell me what's going on."

Meetra shook her head. "I don't know anymore than you do."

"You were on the _Harbinger_ before the crew decided to play good samaritan with a Sith ship."

"I don't remember that; HK-50 made sure of it," Meetra reminded him. "All I know is that the Republic wanted me on Telos."

"They sought you." Meetra and Atton both turned to Kreia, confusion written in their expressions. Her blind eyes were fixed on the former.

"How do you know that?" Meetra asked.

"Because I sought you as well." She raised a hand to silence Meetra's questions. "You were difficult to find, but once I learned you were aboard the vessel, it was easy enough to board and rescue you. As you said, that infernal machine had seen to it." Her lips thinned as she continued down the road of memory. "I... failed to note that the Sith were already on board the _Harbinger_. They fired upon us as we made the jump to hyperspace. Truthfully, I do not know how we arrived at Per-"

T3 rolled in between them, chirping and whistling loud enough to create a slight distortion in his vocabulator. Kreia glared down at the little droid, mouth pursing at the interruption. "Silence, droid. We are having a conversation." He squawked back at her indignantly, ending with a rude buzz.

"Talking trash compactor's overdue for a memory wipe," Atton said, but he rubbed his jaw to hide a smile.

"He said... he brought the ship to Peragus," Meetra translated, T3's agitation and her own increasing fuzziness made it difficult to catch every word, but she was beginning to puzzle out their meaning. She chose to leave his last remark to Kreia untranslated. "He repaired enough damage to keep the ship together until we reached the facility."

"_Right_," Atton scoffed. "Is it going to claim credit for saving our skins in the hangar, too?" He received the same rude buzz. "Yeah, yeah. I'll believe it when I see it."

"How we got there is less important than why the Sith followed." Meetra looked to Kreia. "I'm guessing you know."

"Because you are the last of the Jedi. Once you are dead, they will have won."

The following silence settled over the room like a sodden blanket. Meetra stared at Kreia without seeing her, chest tightening at the implications of the old woman's statement. "That - that's not possible."

"The Civil War destroyed them," Kreia said, as if describing the weather. "By the war's end, many had fallen in battle... and more were seduced by Revan's teachings."

Meetra recalled Atton's mention of Revan going to war with the Jedi, but she shook her head. A memory flashed before her - a tall woman laughing with her face upturned toward a brilliant blue sky, violet eyes and olive skin almost glowing, long dark wind-whipped hair streaming out behind her. The idea that she could lead a war on her own people was something Meetra couldn't, and didn't want to, fathom - and so she shied away from it. "There must be someone, anyone else, alive."

"She's right," Atton said softly. His gaze was downcast and he refused to meet her eyes. "Before Revan killed him, Malak bombed the Jedi academy on Dantooine. I... I don't know if there were any survivors."

"Even before then, many surviving Jedi blamed the Council for the Civil War," Kreia chimed in. "Most saw it as punishment for their inaction during the Mandalorian Wars. The Temple on Coruscant still stands, but it is empty, and the waters in the Room of a Thousand Fountains are still, in reverence to those who have fallen..." She gave Meetra a pointed look. "And those who were lost."

"I was never lost," Meetra said, anger chilling her voice. She wasn't sure who she was really angry at - Kreia and Atton for revealing the closest thing to family she'd ever known was essentially dust and memories? The Council for sending her away in the first place? The violet-eyed woman for leading her to ruin? Or perhaps herself for trusting a friend - but anger felt better than loss, so she clung to it like a life-preserver. "Regardless, the Sith are wasting their time. I am not a Jedi; I was once, but no longer."

"Do you think they will make that distinction?" The derision in Kreia's voice stung. "Do you think they will believe your claim and decide to let you live? They will kill you and leave your body to rot like the rest of the Jedi, and then they will swarm the galaxy. No system, no planet, no people will spared."

Meetra gritted her teeth, fighting against the outburst that clawed in her chest. The Council had exiled her - by their own command, Sith machinations were no longer her problem. Yet, here she was again, cleaning up a mess of someone else's making, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't at least try. "How do we stop them?"

Atton cleared his throat and took a half-step back. "What's with all this 'we' stuff?" He shrugged a little sheepishly when Meetra turned to him. "What? Sith are after you, not me. I didn't sign on to fight in a Jedi war."

"I'm sure we'll manage," Kreia said dryly, earning herself another eye roll, then turned back to Meetra. "As we are, it is impossible. You will need weapons -" Her eyes flicked to Meetra's waist, the implication clear "- allies, and... a teacher." Meetra grimaced at the last, but nodded. Her nascent reconnection with the Force made her feel like a padawan again, and she had left the Academy to fight in the Mandalorian Wars before finishing her formal training to begin with. Kreia shook her head. "I fear it still may not be enough."

"But we have to try," Meetra said, weariness and acceptance settling on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. "If we don't, that's worse than failing."

"The words of a Jedi - and a fool." Meetra blinked, startled by the change in the old woman's attitude. Kreia waved her remaining hand at Meetra dismissively. "You have much to learn, but we have spoken of this enough for now -" She pulled her left arm against her stomach "- and my wound pains me. I will retire to the crew quarters - seek me there if you have more questions." Kreia hesitated, as if there were an action she was unsure she should perform, then turned and stepped out into the corridor.

"Aw, going so soon?" Atton called after her, evidently unable to resist a last dig at the old woman. "My eyes were just getting heavy."

"And in private, we will be free of the opinions of imbeciles," Kreia retorted as she vanished around the corner.

He chuckled, pleased at having gotten under her skin, but his amusement faded when he looked back to Meetra. "Gray's not really a good look for you." Meetra frowned at him and then pulled a lock of hair in front of her face, inspecting the strands. He laughed and shook his head. "I meant your face. How do you feel?"

"I'm - I'm fine," Meetra protested, pushing herself away from the chair. She immediately grabbed for it again when she wobbled, her knee threatening to buckle.

"Yeeeaah, no." Atton shook his head, smirking at her bravado. "You Jedi are bad liars." He pointed down at T3. "Ask the tin can if this boat has a medbay."

"_He _can understand _you_."

T3 grumbled at Atton, but he rolled out into the corridor, pausing when they didn't follow right away. Atton crossed back to the co-pilot's chair and retrieved Meetra's staff, returning it to her without a word. T3 led them back into the main hold, taking the port-side hallway this time and making a right at the intersection. He rolled up to the door of a small room and whistled twice, using his scomp link to cycle the hatch. Inside was a sparse, but functional medbay, a single bed at its center. Meetra leaned her staff against the door frame, then limped over to the bed and sat on the edge. Dark patches were beginning to encroach on the edges of her vision and she felt her exhaustion deep in her bones.

Atton rummaged through the cabinets, coming up with a bottle of disinfectant, a few cloths, a stack of bandages, an injector, and a pair of shears. He brought it all back to the bed and laid everything out next to her, keeping the injector in hand. He waved it in front of her. "Something stronger than a medpac?" She nodded and pushed up the sleeve on her uninjured arm, flinching a little when he pressed the needle into her skin. The drug worked quickly, the pain in her shoulder fading to a dull throb. He swapped the injector for the shears and carefully snipped through the fabric around her shoulder, helping her slide the extra fabric off her arm.

"Any idea why she thinks the Sith are so intent on taking out a lone Jedi?" He asked as he dampened a cloth with the disinfectant, answering Meetra's glare with a quick grin. "Fine, an ex-Jedi. This'll probably sting." It did and she sucked in a breath through her teeth, but kept still as he cleaned the caked blood from her skin.

"I don't know. Half of what she says doesn't make sense, even to me." Cleansed of gore, the wound didn't look as bad as it felt and Atton set about dressing it, folding a few bandages against her shoulder before wrapping more around it. Meetra noted his quick and gentle efficiency; he was used to dressing wounds. His hands were warm where they brushed her skin, the tips of his fingers slightly calloused. "I'm starting to think she's being cryptic for the fun of it."

"Well, just so you Jedi know, the whole 'cryptic routine' isn't mysterious -" He paused in dressing the blaster burn on her arm to wave his arms as he said the last word "- it's just irritating. If you really can see the future, you should be placing bets at the swoop races."

"To know the future, one must know yourself."

Atton glared at her. "See, that right there. 'Jedi talk.' You and her should start up your own little Academy."

"To teach, one must be willing to learn." She laughed when he threw up his hands.

"Just my luck. Last Jedi in the galaxy, and I get the comedian who runs around in her underwear," Atton groused, but one side of his mouth curved up in a lopsided smile. "Far be it from me to complain, though. You're all done. At least you won't bleed to death now." He cleared everything from the bed and then dropped onto it next to her, his shoulder brushing hers. "So... what happened?"

She frowned, realization dawning when his eyes flicked down to her waist and back up. "To what?"

"C'mon," he said, calling her bluff. "A lightsaber would have been just the littlest bit helpful back there - so... where's yours?"

Anxiety turned Meetra's stomach and tightened her chest, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Even after a decade, the indignity and embarrassment still lingered. "It was... taken from me. By the Council."

"They could do that?" Atton lifted an eyebrow when she nodded. "I thought you guys were married to your lightsabers. Was it single hilt or double-bladed? Wasn't red, right?"

His interest made her uncomfortable, though again, she couldn't say why. "No, it was cyan - blue, like the oceans of Manaan - and double-bladed."

"I heard a lot of Jedi used double-bladed sabers during the Mandalorian Wars." Meetra glanced sideways at him, but Atton didn't seem to be digging maliciously. "It's a more aggressive blade, right? More damage per swing." He mimed striking with a lightsaber.

Meetra suddenly felt sick, memories flickering at the edges of her consciousness. Dxun. Serroco. Malachor V. She stood quickly, managing to keep her balance while favoring her knee. "I - I think I should check on Kreia."

Atton looked surprised, but then he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, seeming to realize that he'd upset her. He stood and scooped up the remaining bandages and disinfectant, pressing them into Meetra's hands. "Not that I really give a damn or anything, but you might try getting her to take care of that hand of hers. I would, but spending time in her presence is bad for my health."

Meetra nodded, balancing the supplies in one arm and scooped up her staff with her free hand. T3, sitting vigil at the medbay door, chirped for her to follow him back out into the corridor, guiding her to the port-side bunks. He refused to go in with her, warbling a vague excuse before rolling back the way they'd come. Meetra entered the dormitory and found Kreia at the far end, the old woman kneeling on the floor and deep in meditation. She stood as Meetra approached. "So, you do have questions."

"Actually, I brought you some things to help with your hand." Meetra spread everything on one of the bunks, but didn't offer to help Kreia. She got the sense that it would just insult her. "But... yes, I did want to ask about something. I... I felt it when you lost your hand. It was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life."

Kreia seemed unsurprised by the revelation. "Yes, and I fear if my injuries had been more... extreme, your reaction would have followed accordingly."

"You mean it could have been fatal - if you'd died, I would have, too."

"Possibly. I feel... something between us, a bond tying us to one another." Kreia frowned, her hand lifting to touch one of the long grey braids hanging down from beneath the hood of her robe. "We should take steps to ensure our minds are prepared to shield each other from pain the next time we find ourselves in battle. We will hardly be any use to each if a stubbed toe incapacitates us both."

"How could a bond like that be formed?"

"I... do not know," Kreia admitted. "I _do _know that it is strong and the roots run deep. It will not be easy to break."

Meetra chewed her lip, digesting the information. Being connected to each other in such a way... it was a level of intimacy she wasn't sure she was comfortable with. She put the issue to the back of her mind, choosing instead to ask the old woman about the other issue plaguing her thoughts. "On Peragus... I felt the Force again. For the first time in ten years, I called and it answered, but... it's weaker than it was before."

Kreia nodded, again unfazed by Meetra's revelations. "I theorize that the Jedi Council failed to cut you off from the Force when they handed down your exile. It seems the damage they did was not as permanent as they hoped."

"Wait, you think the Council did this to me?"

"Do you believe you lost your connection to the Force by chance?" Kreia chuckled. "No, you are not the first exile to be severed by the Council. They merely chose to hide the truth of the sentencing."

Meetra's heart raced, but she still had trouble imagining the Jedi would do what Kreia was accusing them of. Granted, there were a few on the Council who would have delighted in inflicting such a sentence - especially on her - but it seemed too cruel for the rest. "Is there a way to reverse it?"

"Our... 'link' may have already begun the process." Kreia paused, lost in thought for a moment. "The fact that you are able to touch the Force again at all means there is hope. I may be able to train to reach your full potential again."

"Thank you. Truly."

Kreia nodded, then slowly lowered herself back to the floor. "I appreciate the supplies - and the concern. However, I would request solitude until we reach Telos." She cast a baleful glance past Meetra, in the vague direction of navigation. "You should observe that fool in the cockpit. I do not want him to deviate from Telos."

Meetra frowned. "He has a name, Kreia."

The old woman scoffed. "I do not trust him, and neither should you. Men such as he serve themselves first and others not at all."

Meetra lifted a hand to her shoulder absently, recalling the care Atton had taken while cleaning and dressing her wounds. "I don't think you know him as well as you believe."

Kreia sniffed, managing to look down her nose at Meetra while still kneeling, "I will not start an argument over one so undeserving." Then she closed her eyes, indicating the conversation was over. Meetra backed out of the dormitory and wandered into the main hold, sinking down onto one of the couches. The sounds of the ship echoed around her - the soft hum of the engine interspersed with beeps or trills from nearby consoles. It was soothing, in a strange way, and Meetra allowed herself to relax. The road ahead was still unknown and that worried her, but for now, here in the slipstream of hyperspace, they were safe. For now, that was enough.


	15. Interlude I - So, What's Your Story?

In the silence, the _Ebon Hawk _was large and haunted. Avoiding the portside dormitory, Meetra explored to the south. A turn in the corridor brought her to a large open space with a workbench at the far end and shelving against the outer wall - a garage, large enough to hold a swoop bike or a small airspeeder. Old oil stains dotted a section of the floor, evidence that a vehicle had once inhabited the space, but now it was as empty as the rest of the ship. Meetra hurried through, the echo of her boots and staff an intrusion on the stillness.

The corridor curved around to another dormitory, this one free of irascible old women. Meetra leaned her staff against a wall and sank down on one of the lower bunks. The mattress groaned under her weight but felt serviceable enough. She debated lying down, but the idea of trying to sleep in the shredded and filthy mining uniform made her want to crawl out of her skin. Levering herself back to her feet, Meetra rummaged through the footlockers at the ends of each bunk, coming up with a cream tunic, off-white pants, and soft brown leather boots. Meetra shucked the uniform and pulled the new garments on, finding them a surprisingly close fit. They had a faint smell about them - something familiar, but too fleeting for her to identify. She retreated to the bunk and closed her eyes, but sleep remained out of reach. After a few minutes, she gave up and hobbled back out to the main hold.

She briefly fiddled with the circular console in the center of the hold, but most of its functions were inaccessible, locked behind a voiceprint. A status report for each of the ship's functions was available, as well as a log of the repairs performed on Peragus, but most of it went over her head. T3 would be able to make more sense of it, but the little astromech had vanished into the bowels of the freighter with a purpose, and Meetra was loath to track him down and disturb him for something so small. The idea of resuming her chat with Kreia was no more enticing, and so she turned north to the cockpit.

Atton was back in the pilot's seat, focus locked on the readout from the _Ebon Hawk_'s myriad consoles. He'd removed his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair, exposing the beige shirt underneath - he looked smaller without it. He glanced up at her footsteps and his eyes swept her frame as he took in her new outfit. "Nice threads. Not really the current style, but I'm a fan."

"Oh, thank goodness. My entire self-image hinges on your approval of my fashion choice." He chuckled, his eyes following her as she crossed the cockpit to the co-pilot's chair. Meetra let herself down gingerly and stretched her leg out. "I thought you'd be more disappointed, given your clear preference in our first meeting."

"I take it back; they're hideous." Atton smiled when she laughed, but it faded as he got a good look at her face. A faint tightness at the corners of her eyes and mouth hinted at suppressed pain and the heavy bags beneath her eyes spoke of a deep weariness. "You should get some rest. If we get in another scrape with the Sith, you might not be so lucky."

"Can't sleep," Meetra said and shrugged her good shoulder. "It's too quiet. Every step feels like I'm walking over a grave."

"Well, you're free to hang around. Your ship, your call." Atton looked back at the consoles, gaze panning across the screens; though, as the _Ebon Hawk _was essentially on auto-pilot, it wasn't clear what he was looking for. "I'm not gonna promise good conversation, though." It wasn't an apology for his earlier remarks, not in so many words, but she was getting better at seeing through the facade.

"How long until we reach Telos?"

"Few hours still." He stretched, the outline of his shoulders shifting beneath the shirt, and leaned back in the chair, arms folded behind his head. "Just in time for happy hour at the cantina."

"At least your priorities are straight."

"You saying you _don't _need a drink after blowing up a planet?" Meetra's smile slipped and Atton bit the inside of his cheek. "A dead planet, I mean. That's why they were mining the field. Because, you know… dead planet." He changed tack. "Uh, so how's Her Majesty?"

"Cryptic," Meetra said flatly. Atton caught her grimace from the corner of his eye and grinned. She returned it, then her face softened. "You really should go easy on her, though. She's hiding it well, but I can't imagine the agony she must be in."

"She's good at that. Hiding, I mean. Must be a Jedi thing."

Meetra ignored the barb. "I don't know if she _is _a Jedi. At least, not like any I've ever known." Well, almost any. Kreia would probably have gotten along with Revan. Meetra sighed and pulled a hand through her hair, tucking the longer strands behind her ears. Sometimes she missed her braid. "I can't quite figure her out."

"How is that not like a Jedi?" This time she tossed him a sideways glare. Atton smirked and ruffled his own hair, the longer bit on top falling over one of his eyes. It made him look disarmingly boyish, Meetra decided, but she wasn't sure if it was purely aesthetic or part of the act. Either way, she was certain he knew the effect it had. "Fine, fine. I'll knock it off - if she dials back the attitude."

"... I'll work on it."

They lapsed into a companionable silence, a rarity for Meetra in the previous decade. Her chair wasn't exactly comfortable or designed for sleep, but between the soft chirps from the consoles, the hypnotic hyperspace glow, and the presence of an amicable (if not overly friendly) person, she found her eyes growing heavy. She settled back into her seat and closed her eyes.

"You know, something's been bugging me." Well, he'd said he wouldn't promise _good _conversation, not _no _conversation. Meetra cracked an eye and glanced over at Atton. His attention was focused on the ceiling of the cockpit, making her unsure if he'd noticed her falling asleep. "I get why you were on the _Harbinger. _Republic summons and all that druk. My question is what's a Jedi - ex-Jedi, I mean - doing on the Outer Rim?"

"It's not so strange - there's an academy on Dantooine."

"Er, there _was._" Atton's tone was gentle, but the words still stung. The Jedi may have turned their backs on her, but the idea of going back to the Academy or the Temple on Coruscant with no one there to turn her away… Meetra pushed the thought down, tucking it away with her fear and guilt as Atton continued. "I'm not talking about before the Jedi war; I mean _now_."

"I… traveled." She fidgeted, fingers twining around each other in loose spirals. A quiet voice, not her own, echoed a rebuke from the depths of her memory, and she forced her hands to be still. "I'd never gone further out on the Rim than Dantooine, and after you see Coruscant half a dozen times it loses a little of the impact. I wanted to see somewhere - something - new. So, I did."

He was staring at her now, brow furrowed. "That's it?"

"Does there need to be more?"

"Well, no, I guess not." Atton shifted in his seat, every movement outlined beneath the beige fabric. "Just thought it'd be more, I don't know, scandalous." And so it was, but Meetra wasn't sure she trusted him with the full story, or if she was even ready to share it. "You know, in light of the whole Revan and Malak thing."

"I left the Order," Meetra said. A half-truth - well, maybe a quarter-truth, if she were being honest. "I didn't fall - if that _is _what happened to Revan and Malak." She surprised herself with her choice of words. The idea of Revan falling to the Dark Side - of the beautiful, strong, kind friend Meetra had loved fiercely turning against everything they believed in - was so impossible that her mind rejected it outright. No, there was more to Revan's story, and as soon as she found a way to escape the Sith's pursuit, she would get to the truth of it.

Atton, watching her closer than he hoped she knew, caught the emotion flickering across Meetra's face - like fireflies, there and gone before you could be sure it had been there at all. She had a good poker face - hell, a good face in general, and more besides - but seeing past someone's facade was practically a survival skill of his. There was a reflection of physical pain, of course, but a deeper hurt lurked beneath the surface, mingled with a weariness that went further than the events of the past few hours. Like everyone else on the ship, she had secrets.

"What about you?" She was looking at him now, face bathed in the blue glow of the hyperspace tunnel. The ethereal halo softened her features further, sculpting vulnerability in the curve of her cheek and the swell of her lips.

"What do you mean?" To his credit, his voice didn't betray him.

"How did you end up in that cell, really?"

"Told you. Security overreacted, blew things out of proportion. Probably had a quota to fill."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It's what happened."

"I'm sure it's a version." The corner of Meetra's mouth curved up and amusement joined the fatigue and pain, smoothing the tightness at her jaw and eyes. A smile like that told Atton that she was used to using it to get what she wanted. And who was he to deny her?

"I… do a lot of import - export." She tilted her head, the question written in the movement. "Peragus is - _was_ \- one of my stops. A few of the miners were clients and I caught a ride to the station to make a delivery. Security got wind and objected to the… _product_, and the rest you know." He waved a hand. "Simple misunderstanding."

Meetra laughed, a chuckle that started low in her chest and bubbled out of her mouth. "You're a smuggler!'

Atton frowned and rolled his eyes. "Well, you don't have to say it like that."

"No, no, I'm sorry." Meetra lifted a placating hand as her giggles subsided. "I didn't mean it to sound negative. It just explains a lot."

"Really? I thought Jedi were paragons of order and justice."

The laughter froze on her face and died in her eyes. "They were." For just a second, grief replaced mirth - a flash in the dark and then gone again. Her smile was back in place, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I, however, think it makes you a highly valuable ally."

"Bold of you to assume."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't say that's new for me." She didn't elaborate and Atton didn't push. Meetra leaned back in her chair again, eyes half-lidded as she stared down the blue corridor ahead of them. "I didn't thank you before, in the medbay."

"You're welcome."

The silence flooded in again, but as before, it wasn't unpleasant. There was something serene in it, Atton decided; a sense of safety born from the danger they'd survived. He turned to say something to Meetra, to make a joke that would pull another rumbling laugh from her, but her eyes were shut, chest rising and falling in a slow steady rhythm. Her hair had slipped from its place behind her ears, falling across her cheekbones in soft lazy waves.

Atton sank back into his chair and closed his own eyes, but he didn't sleep. There were only a few hours left before they reached Telos, and whatever this feeling was, this delicate tranquility that seemed somehow born of their shared presence, he didn't want to waste a second of it.


	16. Warm Welcome

"I gotta say, if this is going to be a pattern, I almost wish I'd stayed on Peragus."

Meetra glared at Atton through the fields of their force cages, but she had to concede his point. The instant the _Ebon Hawk _had touched down in the Citadel Station's hangar, Telosian security officers swarmed the ship. Led by the taciturn Lieutenant Dol Grenn, a man who exuded military background like a strong cologne, the officers swept the trio through the station to the TSF's main office and imprisoned them in force cages. Grenn confiscated their equipment, informed them of the _Ebon Hawk _and T3's impoundment, accused them (albeit diplomatically) of destroying the Peragus mining facility, and then he left with the promise of proper lodgings. That had been three hours ago.

All things considered, Meetra had experienced worse welcomes, but it didn't exactly leave them with a lot of options.

Atton leaned against the flat panel at the back of his force cage and slid down to sit on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, knees bent and boots flat on the ground, and closed his eyes. With any luck, his nonstop complaining from the hangar to the security station had exhausted his supply of hot air. Meetra glanced to her other side, but Kreia had long since settled into a meditative pose on the floor of her own force cage and it was doubtful she would be good conversation anyway. Meetra lowered herself to the floor and mimicked Kreia's posture. Her knee creaked under the pressure, but the few hours of rest on the _Ebon Hawk_ had made a marked improvement; it was almost worth the crick in her neck from sleeping in the co-pilot's chair. Meetra closed her eyes, but clearing her mind was difficult. She was out of practice and meditation had never been a strong suit for her, to the frustration of several of her teachers.

"Didn't get enough sleep on the ride over?" Meetra opened her eyes and found Atton watching her, lids half open and mouth curved up in a crooked smirk. "You snore, by the way."

"I do no - " Meetra broke off and rolled her eyes as his grin stretched into a full smile. "Hilarious."

"Aw, don't be like that. It's nothing to be embarrassed about,"

"Are you twelve?"

"Geez, cranky. Guess you do need more sleep." He closed his eyes and turned his face away before she could retort, but it was more a dismissal of the conversation than an indication he was tired. And if he felt anything like she did, he must be exhausted. After a moment, he spoke again, eyes still shut. "You ever been to Telos?"

She shook her head. "I've never done well in crowds; Telos was heavily populated, so…" Meetra shrugged, good shoulder rising higher than the other. The excuse was mostly the truth, but her Exile status made Telos off-limits regardless. The Jedi had built an agricultural compound on the planet, staffed by failed padawans, and even there she would have been less than welcome. "But that was… before." Before Alek - no, _Malak _\- devastated the planet's surface while she'd been meandering around the furthest reaches of civilized space.

"Where were you before the _Harbinger_?"

The abrupt subject change threatened to give her mental whiplash, but Meetra could see it for what it was: a combination of boredom and anxiety. Atton might be familiar with detainment, but he wasn't comfortable with it. "Like I said before, I traveled a lot. Never stayed in one place long." She counted off planets on her fingers as she spoke them aloud. "Spent a few months on Tatooine - wouldn't recommend, unless having sand in literally every crevasse does it for you. Kamino's nice, but the storms are too frequent and unpredictable. Went to Belsavis for a few we-"

"_Belsavis_?" Atton repeated. He was looking at her now, brows and mouth drawn down with confusion. "Why the hell would you go there - to play in the snow?" He shuddered, as if the thought alone summoned the icy planet's chill. "Tatooine's backwater, but at least there's people on it."

His reaction pulled a laugh from her. "There _were_ people on Belsavis. A Republic outpost - a science project really. Trying to find a way harness the planet's geothermal energy efficiently enough to power a settlement." Meetra's smile slipped as she thought of Kyne - and vanished entirely when Jazala and Dekar came to mind. "I needed a place to stay. They needed another free pair of hands."

Atton's expression was still dubious. "Running from a Sith Lord, crawling through fuel lines, flying through a volatile asteroid field, and now I find out you willingly set foot on that frozen wasteland - not exactly reassuring vis á vis you not being crazy."

"Hey, I got us off Peragus. Crazy can't be all bad."

He grinned. "_You _did, huh? I must have taken a hit to the head then, 'cause I seem to recall helping at least a little bit."

Meetra raised a hand, index finger and thumb held only an inch or so apart. "A _very _little bit."

Atton clutched the front of his shirt dramatically. "Cut me to the quick, Jedi. Here I thought I had your respect, but I'm just a pre-"

"Silence." Kreia's voice was quiet, but commanding, and Atton fell silent, glaring over Meetra's shoulder. She turned to find Kreia on her feet, sightless eyes locked on the door across the room. Meetra struggled to her feet, heard Atton do the same. Kreia's milky gaze flicked to her briefly and then back to the door. "Someone comes."

"'Bout time." Atton stretched, one arm pulled high over his head. "Remind me to file a hell of complaint with the TSF; this has gotta be against at least one of the Republic's humanitarian laws."

The holding door shivered and then slid open to admit a young man in TSF garb. He strolled over to the command console for the force cages, a swagger in his step and blaster held loosely at his side, and leaned against the edge, turning to face Meetra. The officer's mouth twisted in a sneer as he looked her up and down. "_This _is the 'last of the Jedi?'" He shook his head, shoulders shaking with a silent chuckle. "I'm almost disappointed."

Meetra's heart hammered a staccato rhythm against her sternum, but she kept her face carefully blank. She felt rather than saw Atton and Kreia tense in their cells, but she didn't let her focus waver. "I think you're confused. There are no Jedi here." She took a breath, forced herself to relax. "Did Grenn send you to escort us?"

The man's smirk widened and he gestured toward his face. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you. Too much wisdom behind the eyes." He straightened, one hand drifting back to rest on the console. "Well, Jedi or no - regardless of what you want to call yourself - there is no confusion." He gestured toward her with the blaster. "You're the one I've pledged to kill."

"Care to tell me who ordered my death?"

Atton answered instead. "The Exchange."

The assassin tipped his head in assent. "Who else? Jedi are worth quite a bit of money to the Exchange - dead or alive. I think you can understand my eagerness."

"What I _can't_ understand is why they'd send a two-bit pistol jockey like you." Atton's voice was calm, his tone nearly as playful as it had been during their earlier conversation, but Meetra sensed the hard edge under the surface. "Their talent recruitment must be slipping. I mean, is the safety even off on that thing?"

To the bounty hunter's credit, he didn't take the bait and glance down at the blaster. However, his focus, and the weapon by extension, shifted to Atton, signaling the insult had gotten under his skin. "What do you know? My skills are far beyond the Exchange; if it weren't for the price on her head, I wouldn't be here."

"If they expected someone to succeed, they'd have hired a Mandalorian." Atton smirked. "Not some cheap Nar Shaddaa back-alley mercenary scum."

"A Mandalorian wouldn't have the brain capacity to get further than the hangar," the bounty hunter snapped. He was visibly agitated now, blaster waving wildly with every punctuation. "A Mandalorian couldn't have been subtle enough to infiltrate the station, take the identity of a TSF officer, and get close enough to - "

"Overload the cages' fields and make it look like tragic negligence?" Meetra glanced sideways at Atton. Judging from the disguised bounty hunter's slack-jawed expression, Atton's prediction was dead on. More unnerving to her was how easily he'd come to it. "You're right. A Mandalorian would have had the guts, the honor, to face us in combat. Hell, you probably can't even fight _me_."

"While overloading the cages _had _occurred to me, at least one of you is wanted alive." The man shifted back to Meetra. "However, even if I bring them a corpse, I still get the bounty. So, by all means, continue allowing him to insult me."

"My companions tend to do as they please," Meetra said, one shoulder lifting in a helpless shrug. "Our imminent doom aside, how do you expect to get away with this? We're in the middle of the TSF station - you can't exactly walk out with me. Or my corpse, for that matter."

"Fortunately, a power surge seems to have temporarily knocked out the cameras." Now that he believed himself back in control, the bounty hunter's smugness came back in full force. "So there will be no witnesses to the escape attempt that forced me to kill your friends. Grenn will have me escort you to the safe house, but I'll arrange for a little detour to the hanger first, and we'll be on Nar Shaddaa before he realizes we never made it."

"Sounds like you've got everything planned out."

He shrugged. "It was less difficult than you might imagine. Grenn is so preoccupied with the station's little black market problem these days, so his attention to detail regarding his officers has been a little lax." He gestured to the console with his free hand. "Now, I'm going to power down the fields. Do me a favor and hold still while I kill the other two. Remember: I don't _need_ you alive."

"I won't let you hurt them." It was strange how easily the quiet authority crept into her voice. A decade's worth of disuse, and yet it slid into place as if she still had the Order's power at her back. "I don't want to fight you, but I'm not going anywhere."

He shrugged. "You'll not hear me complain, 'Jedi.' Frankly, it'll be easier for me to get you off the station dead. I'll ask you to put forth some effort, though; Grenn will need a show if he's to believe you tried to escape."

"Yeah, wouldn't want him pointing out how pathetic you are for attacking an injured woman," Atton interjected. Meetra gave him side-eye for the comment, but he studiously ignored her.

The bounty hunter rounded on Atton again, fury flashing in his dark eyes. "You've goaded me twice; a third time will not go without response. Consider your name on the first round." The fingers of his free hand danced over the console's surface, entering in the sequence to power down the force fields. "Now, please, try to make it look good. My skills are more than a match for an old woman, a fool, and a broken Jedi, but that's no excuse."

The fields powered down, the bounty hunter leveled the blaster at Atton, and Meetra lunged across the room, the Force quickening her steps. Unlike on Peragus, when she'd had to reach and pull the Force to her in order use her abilities, when she had woken up on approach to Telos, it had stayed with her; no longer at the edge of her thoughts, but intertwining with them, soft and insistent. The sensation was still far weaker than before Malachor, but no longer felt tenuous.

She was on the man almost before he realized she had moved. He half-turned toward her, blaster swinging around, but she slammed into him, momentum carrying them across the room to collide against the far wall. The impact knocked the weapon out of his grip as Meetra pushed him back, forearm pressed against his windpipe. The bounty hunter flailed, eyes wild, and swung a desperate punch at her head, but a quick gesture with her free hand and his arm was forced back against the wall. Meetra leaned close, her words escaping in a low snarl. "_I am _not_ broken._"

Panicked, the bounty hunter struck out with his unhindered arm, clipping Meetra's injured shoulder when she ducked out of the way. The blow elicited a startled cry of pain and she reacted instinctively, driving her fist into his left side. A voice, old in both speaker and memory, briefly flickered in her thoughts - _Jedi do not brawl in the streets!_ \- but she willed it away with another strike to his diaphragm. The man's breath left him in a rush, but, to his credit, he kept his head. Shifting his weight onto one foot, he lifted the other and drove his knee into Meetra's sternum and shoved her away.

Meetra's feet went out from under her and she hit the floor hard, the back of her head bouncing against the tiles. White spots popped across her vision and there was a ringing in her ears, almost drowning out the sudden whine of blaster fire. When her vision cleared, she found Atton leaning over her, one hand held out. In the other, the bounty hunter's weapon. Meetra took his hand robotically and allowed him to haul her to her feet. His voice was muffled, the tinny ringing in her ears like a layer of cotton. "You alright?"

She nodded, though in truth it still felt like the world was slightly off its axis, and he released her hand. Meetra glanced around to get her bearings, noting that Kreia still remained in her powered-down force cage, mouth curved up in a small smirk, and then she looked down and took a quick step back. The bounty hunter lay at her feet, his eyes staring sightlessly upward and a neat blaster wound in the middle of his forehead. Blood began to pool beneath his head, the off-white tiles quickly stained a dark crimson.

Boots thundered out in the hallway and Grenn rushed in, flanked by two armed officers. Both trained their weapons on Atton immediately and Grenn motioned toward the weapon in his hand. "Drop it, son."

Atton complied immediately, putting the blaster on the floor and kicking it across to one of the officers, a human woman, for good measure. Meetra took advantage of the momentary distraction to put herself between Atton and their line of fire, but neither officer really seemed to care so long as their weapons had a target. The female officer handed the weapon to Grenn as he surveyed the scene. "Which one of you wants to tell me what the hell happened here?"

"Are you serious, sir?!" the other officer (also human, but male) asked. "We caught them red-handed! That bastard killed one of us!" He advanced toward Atton, and Meetra shifted to keep herself between them.

"Officer, stand down." Grenn's voice was quiet, but the stern rumble brooked no argument.

"C'mon, Lieutenant!" There was grief in the officer's eyes, though the fury nearly overpowered it. He was so focused on Atton Meetra wasn't sure he was even aware of her presence. "Batu is dead becau-"

"This isn't Batu Rem." Every head in the room swiveled to the female officer where she knelt next to the bounty hunter's body. "I don't know _who_ this is, but it's not Batu."

With the officer's ire routed, Meetra stepped forward and gently pushed his rifle down. He allowed the motion, too focused on the body and his partner's revelation to really react. Grenn, however, was still looking to Meetra. She gestured at the dead man. "He said he was a bounty hunter for the Exchange. He turned off the cages so it would look like he was forced to kill us during an escape."

The female officer frowned. "Why would the Exchange want to kill you?"

"They… mistakenly believed we had information about the location of a Jedi." Grenn held her gaze. There was suspicion in his eyes; he knew she was lying, but chose not to comment on it. "He was sent to find out what we knew and make sure no one else would."

There was a brief clamor outside the room and a second male TSF officer, this one with a shock of blonde hair, stumbled in, datapad in hand. "Sir, the cameras -" He stopped dead at the sight of the bounty hunter's corpse, his already wide eyes growing wider.

Grenn gestured impatiently. "Out with it."

"The, uh, the cameras were - they were sabotaged, sir." The blond officer held out the datapad. "The last person to access them was Batu Rem, but… he's supposed to be on leave. He shouldn't be back for another week."

"Send a message to his family, verify that he's still with them," Grenn ordered. "And send a copy of your report to Lieutenant Yima. I need her up to speed as soon as possible." The officer saluted and vanished back out into the hallway. Grenn turned back to the two officers still in the room, gesturing first to the woman. "Letheis, stay with the body. I'll send a medic up here to collect it and we'll figure out who he was." His gaze shifted to the male officer. "Valenic, you're with me. We're moving them to the safe house now."

Behind Meetra, Atton crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's not that I don't have faith in the TSF's protection because an Exchange assassin managed to sneak in right under your nose, but… no, wait, that _is_ it, actually."

"Believe me, this will be thoroughly investigated," Grenn said. "In the meantime, you three will be put up in an apartment in the Residential Module: one way in, one way out. And i'll personally clear any visitors. This won't happen again."

"It should not have happened in the first place." Kreia's tone was light, almost offhand, but her sightless glare betrayed her annoyance. "I doubt any of us wish to wake to an assassin looming above our beds."

"Thanks for that image," Atton said sarcastically.

"There will be two officers outside your accommodations at all times; I'll see to the assignments myself." Grenn waved a hand, indicating the conversation was over. "We've wasted enough time. Yima's team will need the room to work."

Without a word, Kreia followed Grenn and Valenic out of the room. Meetra glanced back at Atton over her shoulder, and he tipped his head slightly, an unspoken sentiment in his eyes: _Your call_. She nodded once and he returned it, and together they trailed after Kreia and the TSF officers.

Grenn hustled them through the station as quickly as he had from the hangar, but he couldn't exactly rush the shuttle between modules, and Meetra got her first good unobstructed look at Telos from the car's windows. Most of the planet's surface was dead, colored a lifeless dusty brown; the testament of the bombing ordered by her old friend during the civil war. Atton had told her a bit about it on approach, surmising that Malak had attacked the planet as preemptive measure in case the Jedi planned to use it as a staging ground. Specks of green dotting the nearer side of the planet - restoration zones enclosed in protective domes - and the thick white mass of the polar ice cap, also dome, were the only visible signs of life. The longer Meetra looked at Telos, the heavier the guilt and grief settled in her chest. The sheer loss of life reminded her of Serroco and Malachor, and she still struggled to accept someone once so dear to her was responsible. Perhaps if she'd spoken up, said something, anything, during those sixteen years… if she'd defied the Council and left her exile sooner… maybe she could have stopped her old friends.

The Residential Module was a blur at the pace Grenn set and the three quickly found themselves ensconced in a small apartment. Three beds were spaced out evenly against one wall, a desk and terminal at one end and a communications console at the other. The wall across from the beds was one long window; thankfully, the view faced out over the station rather than toward Telos. A small refresher was set into the wall at the very end of the window, the room's contents hidden behind the closed door.

"You'll remain here under house arrest until the Peragus investigation comes to a close." Grenn gestured to either side of the apartment door. "As I said, two officers will keep watch, and no one gets to you without going through me first."

Atton snorted. "Right. How about leaving us a blaster or two - even a vibroblade - just to be safe?"

Grenn didn't dignify the snark with a response. "If you need anything, my men will have it sent it to you."

How long are we going to be stuck here?" Meetra asked. The apartment was already starting to feel cramped with two other people. It reminded her of her early days in the barracks during the Mandalorian Wars.

The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, but something in her face softened his features. "Between you and me, our investigation is nearly wrapped up. We sent a ship to examine what's left of the facility half a day ago, so it shouldn't be much longer. Give us a day or so, and we should have our findings. Until then, get some rest." He gestured to the communications console. "We'll use the console to contact you if there are any problems or if there are any requests to speak to you." He gave Meetra a loose salute and gestured to Valenic, and the two men left the apartment.

As soon as the door slid shut behind them, Atton turned to Meetra. "So, how do we get off this station?"

She blinked owlishly at him. "What?"

"It's not safe here, and I don't just mean the Exchange. The TSF digging into Peragus could bring the S-" He cut off, glancing around as if Sith assassins would spring from the minute shadows at their mere mention. When Meetra continued to frown at him, he threw up his hands, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Ah, druk; just forget i said anything. We're trapped here, anyway." He flopped onto the first bed and lay back, arms crossed behind his head. "At least it's not a force cage."

Meetra sighed, running a hand through her hair, and turned to Kreia. "Your thoughts?"

"The fool is not wrong." Atton made a rude hand gesture in Kreia's direction, but neither she or Meetra acknowledged it. "If we stay in one too long, it will only benefit our pursuers." She touched a braid, fingering one of the small gold ornaments that held it together. "However… we were brought here for a reason. What that it is, I am not sure." Kreia released the braid and shook her head. "I need time to think on this. In the meantime, the Lieutenant had it right - we should rest." She crossed to the bed furthest from Atton's and sat on the floor at the end of it, folding her legs beneath her and closing her eyes.

"First sensible thing you've said, Your Highness," Atton jeered. When Kreia continued to ignore him, he rolled his eyes and turned over on his side so that his back was to her. "Enjoy your little 'mediation;' I'll be over here getting some actual sleep."

Meetra hesitated, but she joined Kreia in a meditative pose on the floor. The few hours of sleep she'd gotten onboard the _Ebon Hawk_ had staved off her fatigue for a time, but it was beginning to catch up with her again; however, mediation would allow her body to rest while her mind remained active. And the amount she needed to process was staggering: her returning Force connection, the bond with Kreia, Alek and Revan's impossible fall, and the latter's return to the Light. So, while sleep was tempting, she closed her eyes and sought the less peaceful meditative trance.

Unfortunately, it seemed news of Meetra's arrival had traveled quickly through the station. Over the next few hours, the three were awoken twice, first by one of the officers at the door announcing the arrival of Moza, a representative of an Ithorian herd responsible for the restoration attempt on Telos. He apologized for waking Meetra in the slow ambling way of his people, his large eyes squinting at her from either side of his flat, otherwise featureless face as he described the herd's troubles with the local branch of the Czerka Corporation. Despite Kreia's disapproval and Atton's clear annoyance, Meetra agreed to meet with the herd's leader as soon as they were released and sent Moza on his way. She and Kreia returned to meditation, while Atton, with a steady stream of grumbling, fell back into bed.

The second interruption came in the form of Jana Lorso, a representative of the Czerka Corporation. The ease with which she twisted her words and imbued them with silver-tongued insincerity caused Meetra's hackles to rise and she refused Lorso's request, ending the call quickly. Frustrated, both with Lorso's slimy attitude and the frequent interruptions, Meetra gave up on mediation and opted for actual sleep. She slid into the empty middle bed, surrendering to unconsciousness seconds after her head hit the pillow.

Atton sat back down on the bed next to her, but before he lay down again, he caught Kreia watching Meetra, a strange tenderness on her face. He glanced back at Meetra and saw again the vulnerability he'd witnessed in the _Ebon Hawk_'s cockpit. "Hey, explain something to me."

"I have not the time, nor the desire," she said dismissively. "Go back to sleep."

He rolled his eyes. "Indulge me. Jedi are supposed to be tough, right? I mean… she served in the Mandalorian Wars, right? I mean, she's old enough… I think. She's supposed to be… I don't know, capable?"

"That would depend on one's definition of the word," Kreia pointed out. "I posit you a question: what is a Jedi without the Force?"

"I don't follow."

"Odd; you seem to be doing a remarkably good job of it." She chuckled at her own joke before continuing. "A Jedi relies on the Force; more than most of them know. Even the greatest Jedi Knight becomes but a woman or a man when stripped of the Force. Take away the lightsaber, replace it with a blaster, and they become less - children."

Atton glanced back at Meetra, resisted the urge to push the lock of hair across her cheek out of her face. "But she has the Force."

"Not to the extent that she did."

"I… I guess I didn't realize how much they relied on it. How much if defines them."

Kreia chuckled again, a sound low in her throat. "In many ways, even a fool is more capable than a Jedi. Your skills, your abilities, cannot be stripped from you as easily as hers. It is largely why I continue to tolerate your presence. That, and her inexplicable preference for it." She ignored Atton's quick glance in her direction, her blind gaze fixed on Meetra's sleeping form. "Let us end this - we do her a disservice by speaking of this when she cannot participate in her defense." With that, Kreia returned to the foot of her bed and resumed the meditative pose.

Atton lay back on the bed, turning to face Meetra. In sleep, her features were truly peaceful; the lines of pain, stress, and grief were swept away, leaving behind a face that Atton knew would follow him into his dreams. He committed it to memory - the curve of her jaw, the line of her nose, the color of her lips - and closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him quickly.


	17. Making Friends

_Bodies stretched out in front of her in a shin-deep carpet over the jungle floor. In the distance, a man screamed and blaster fire answered. There was no smoke this time; the air was clear and her saber blades burned bright enough to illuminate her immediate surroundings. It was impossible to tell which of the corpses were Mandalorian and which were Republic - the uniforms were scorched and caked with blood. Her robes were singed in places as well and spattered with gore - the hem was soaked through and dripping dark red. She could feel blood on her face, on her hands, in her hair; the lives of friend and foe alike drying on her skin. The faint sounds of battle continued past the trees, but she was alone, the bodies staring sightlessly up at her, judgement written in the permanent lines of pain and horror on their faces. She clutched her lightsaber, hilt slick with blood and sweat in her child's hands, and stumbled backward. Her boots slipped on the wet grass and the world tilted, revealing a starless void stretching out above her as she fell, mouth opening in a soundless scream -_

Meetra woke with a start, breath catching in her throat. Atton ceased shaking her shoulder and pulled his hand back, looking as startled as she felt. A towel hung around his neck, moisture beading along his forehead, the arch of his cheekbones, and the line of his nose. His hair was damp and slicked back, though a few rebellious strands threatened to fall over his face. The ribbed jacket was gone again, loose off-white shirt hanging slightly open at his throat. He smiled nervously and took a step back with his hands slightly raised. "You alright?"

"Ah, yes - yeah, I'm fine," Meetra stammered, pushing herself into a sitting position. She took a breath, pulse slowing as her body caught up with her mind, and returned his smile with a small one of her own. "Sorry. Bad dream."

"You need to talk about it?"

Her smile curved into a smirk. "You offering?"

"Above my paygrade. I was gonna suggest Her Royal Pain-in-the-Ass." Atton jabbed a thumb toward Kreia, where she still sat cross-legged in meditation. If she heard him, she refused to acknowledge it. Atton rolled his eyes, as if Kreia's lack of response was itself an insult, and wiped his face with one end of the towel. "Thought you'd want to know you just missed Grenn. Investigation finished this morning."

"From the lack of panic, I'm guessing the news is good."

"Well, don't get too excited. As far as Telos is concerned, we're in the clear." His mouth thinned. "That's the good news."

Meetra frowned. "And the bad?"

"Republic's sending a ship to Telos and we're to remain on-station until it arrives."

A ball of anxiety settled in her stomach. "Did he say why?"

Atton shrugged. "Ostensibly, the Republic wants to do its own investigation, since the _Harbinger _was involved."

"Do you believe that?"

He met her eyes and didn't look away. "I believe that's part of it. I also believe we don't want to be here when they show up."

Meetra took a deep breath, forcing the rising panic to the back of her mind. "How long do we have?"

"If the ship's coming from the core planets or inner rim, I'd say a week; mid-rim, we have a few days. Any closer…" He trailed off meaningfully.

She nodded and swung her legs over the side of the bed, carefully testing her knee as she stood. There was an unsteadiness, a lingering weakness in the joint, but it held her weight with little pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Atton trying to pretend he wasn't hovering and she waved him off, gesturing toward the refresher's open door. "How's the water pressure?"

"Like there's a handful of space rock stuffed down the pipes, but at least it's hot." He crossed to his bed and flopped onto it, arms folded behind his head, and flashed her a wicked grin. "Let me know if you need help."

The lascivious remark startled a laugh out of Meetra and Atton's smirk softened to a genuine smile. Not serious, then. It was still difficult to tell when he was and wasn't joking, but she was getting better at it. She shook her head, leaving the barb unanswered, and went to the refresher.

With the door closed behind her, there was barely enough room to move. The refresher was hardly more than a box with a high ceiling. A small toilet sat to her left, catty-corner from the shower cubicle and directly across from a shelving unit set into the wall, the top two sections adorned with several white towels. At the very back of the room was a tiny cleanser for garments. Meetra stripped off her tunic and leggings and threw them in, then turned to the shower, adjusting it to an acceptable temperature before stepping inside.

Atton had been right about the pressure - the weak spray barely ruffled her hair, but at least it swept away the thin layer of grime from her skin. She closed her eyes and tipped her face up into the warm water, relishing in the small luxury. She hadn't had a proper shower since Belsavis - showers on the _Harbinger _had been an appropriately military affair.

The thought darkened Meetra's mood, leaching some of her pleasure from the shower. She'd barely spoken to most of the crew aboard the _Harbinger, _but their deaths still haunted her. If Kreia was right and the Sith Lord on Peragus had been tracking her, the massacre on the warship was partially her fault. The deaths on Peragus, too, though by a different hand. She leaned against the cubicle wall, forehead pressed against the warm tiles, and let out a weary sigh. The feeling - the sense of being responsible for another's death - was a familiar one, and it never got any easier. In fact, the guilt felt even more fresh this time - she'd grown too used to exile. At least HK-50 and the Sith Lord had gotten what they deserved.

She finished her shower quickly and stepped out, grabbing one of the towels to dry herself. Her shoulder twinged a bit when she brushed the cloth over it, but like her knee, it was leagues better than it had been the day before. As she toweled her hair dry, the cleanser's cycle finished, and she pulled the clothes out and dressed, a pleasant shiver running down her spine from the lingering warmth. She hung the damp towel on the corner of an empty shelf to air dry, combed her fingers through her hair, and went back out into the apartment.

As soon as the door slid open, Kreia rose from her mediation and crossed the room, stepping around Meetra into the refresher and closing the door without a word. Meetra stared after her for a moment, then shook her head and glanced toward Atton. He had moved from his bed to the desk, jacket tossed haphazardly over the back of the chair and the damp towel in a puddle near his feet. He was engrossed in the terminal, star charts and navigation maps flashing across its screen. Meetra moved to join him, leaning against the edge of the desk next to him in reverse tableau of their first meeting. "Planning a trip?"

"Quickest, and quietest, way to Nar Shaddaa." He glanced up at her, gaze lingering on the way her damp hair hung around her face. "Like I said before, I think it's our best option."

Meetra frowned. She'd never been to Nar Shaddaa, but the city had a certain… reputation, as evidenced by its colloquial nickname: the Smuggler's Moon. The fact that it was in Hutt space, orbiting Nal Hutta, their "Glorious Jewel," didn't do anything to ease her concern.

Her hesitation must have shown on her face because Atton launched into an explanation. "Republic's not going to risk angering the Hutts, so even if they follow us, once we reach the surface we're in the wind as far as they're concerned. The Sith might… well, no, they'll probably follow us to the surface, but getting lost in the crowd is easy if you know how."

He paused and Meetra could tell he was considering whether or not to share his next thought. "Granted… the Exchange's headquarters is on Nar Shaddaa -" Meetra opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to forestall her response "- _but_ they won't be expecting a Jedi to hide right under their noses."

"So our safest course of action is losing our pursuers in a city where looking over your shoulder is a basic tenet of survival?" Atton shrugged and she sighed, lifting a hand to massage her temple - she felt a tension headache coming on. "I doubt the Hutts will be pleased if they find a Jedi in their territory."

"Trust me, they're too busy issuing bounties to notice half of what goes on on Nar Shaddaa," he said, tone confident. "We lay low on the moon for a few days, maybe a week, and lose both the Republic and the Sith. When the coast is clear, you and the old woman can go where you like without being followed."

She glanced sideways at him. "You'd stay on Nar Shaddaa?"

Atton gave her an odd look. "Well, yeah." His tone made it clear he thought it should have been obvious to her. "Look, I appreciate the help on Peragus; we make a good team. But fighting Sith - that's a Jedi's job."

Meetra nodded, a mechanical response more than genuine acceptance. Part of her knew she shouldn't be surprised - Atton was, by his own admission, a smuggler; not exactly a profession inclined to heroism and sacrifice - but it still stung. She desperately needed allies to take on the Sith, and from what she'd seen, Atton was definitely capable, with a lot of skills she could use… and he was right - they did make a good team.

While she mulled this over, Atton watched her closely, gauging her reaction. He disliked telling her about his departure more than he cared to admit, even to himself, but it was the smart move. His desire to avoid more fighting with the Sith had won out over _other _desires - if only just barely. She met his eyes again and gave him an understanding smile. "You don't have to stay on Nar Shaddaa. We could take wherever you wanted to go before…" She trailed off, gaze dropping to the floor again.

"I'll keep it in mind." He forced a half-smile as she glanced up at him again. "Thanks, Meetra." Her smile bloomed at his use of her name and the guilt dug itself deeper in his chest.

The refresher door slid open behind them, putting an end to their conversation. Kreia emerged, and if it not for the steam drifting out behind her, it appeared as if she hadn't changed or used the shower at all - her hair and clothes were dry and perfectly in place. She scowled across at them. "I take it we have a plan of action if you two are comfortable idling away what time we have left."

"Maybe," Meetra said, pushing herself upright from the desk. Atton glanced sharply at her, but she ignored it. "I don't think any of us wants to be here when the Republic, least of all me. Atton's made a pretty good case for hiding out on Nar Shaddaa, but I think we should all get a say. What do you think we should do?"

"I do not entirely disagree," Kreia answered. She pointedly ignored Meetra's raised eyebrows and Atton's self-satisfied chuckle. "Republic forces aside, it is unlikely the _Harbinger _was the only ship the Sith have at their command; they could already be on their way, even now. However… I _feel _something drew us here, to Telos. Do you not?"

Meetra frowned, brow furrowing in concentration as she reached out through the Force. Kreia was right; there was _something _\- a minute disturbance, like the flickering of a candle on a darkened night. She struggled to pinpoint the location, but eventually gave up; the disturbance was so minute that her weakened abilities couldn't track it.

"Great, just what we need: more Jedi," Atton groaned. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back into its usual scruffy style. "The Sith will definitely think twice if there are _three _of you. Probably send a written apology and everything,"

"I don't know what it is," Meetra admitted. The quiet frustration in her voice killed the snark Atton was prepared to unleash. His conversation with Kreia during the night came back to him and he swallowed the retort on his tongue. "I can sense it, but nothing feels -" She broke off, jaw and fists clenching. "Nothing feels the same."

"Your abilities are not entirely at fault." Kreia scowled again, but this time it wasn't intended for her companions. "Its location escapes me as well. But, if it is a Jedi, there is a chance they could help us restore your abilities, or -" She gestured with the empty sleeve of her robe "- sever the connection between us."

"You think they could be hiding on the station?"

"Hardly. More likely as not, they are on the planet's surface."

Atton swiveled the desk chair to face Kreia. "Telos' surface? The toxic, unliveable surface?"

She smirked. "What better place to hide?"

He stared at her for a long moment, then covered his face with his hands. "So only the crazy Jedi survived the Civil War. Great."

Kreia turned back to Meetra. "Either way, the choice is yours. Seek out the disturbance on Telos, or flee to your fool's paradise for thieves and murderers."

Atton lowered his hands to glare at her. "You missed your calling, Highness. You should write travel brochures."

"Not everyone can play to their strengths so well as you, fool."

"Stop," Meetra said, feeling her headache making a comeback. She let a tinge of the commanding tone her masters had drilled into her as a padawan seep into her voice for good measure. Atton, at least, looked chagrined; Kreia's only response was a blank stare. "Stay or go, we need the _Ebon Hawk_."

"Grenn said he was bringing it out of impound, along with the chatty tin can," Atton said. He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and pulling on over his shoulders. "Mentioned we could pick up our gear at the TSF station, too."

"Then that's a good place to start."

He gestured toward the apartment door. "All right. I'll follow your lead." Meeta nodded and turned to Kreia, but the old woman was already striding out of the apartment. Grumbling under her breath, Meetra hurried to catch up, Atton close behind.

Residential Module 082 reminded Meetra of the high rise apartment buildings on Coruscant, but laid out horizontally rather than vertically. Several corridors led off from the main thoroughfare, ending in small cul de sacs of five separate apartments, and various shopfronts lined the long walkways. Either end of the thoroughfare disappeared into other residential modules. However, Kreia's pace invited no exploration, and the three quickly made their way to the shuttle.

As the car traversed the station, Telos came into view again. Meetra focused on the planet, concentrating her Force sense. The small flicker was still present, a ripple on an otherwise still pond, but it was impossible to tell where it was located on the surface - if it even actually was. Behind her, Atton frowned, reading the frustration in her shoulders. Part of him wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he held himself back. Getting attached now would only make his leaving more difficult. If Kreia noticed Meetra's agitation, she ignored it.

The three arrived at Entertainment Module 081 and made their way out of the shuttle station and past the cantina to the security office. A tall gray protocol behind a circular desk glanced up as they entered. "Welcome to Entertainment Module 081's Telos Security Force office. I am C6-89, TSF administrative assistant. How may I assist you?"

"Our, uh, personal effects were confiscated when we landed yesterday," Meetra explained haltingly. Her awkwardness stemmed from inexperience - outside of her trial after the Mandalorian Wars, she'd never been on the receiving end of a legal system. "Lieutenant Grenn said we could pick up our belongings and get out ship out of impound."

"Name?" C6-89's voice never wavered from its pleasant tenor, but Meetra imagined a sense of annoyance in his tone.

"Meetra Surik."

"A moment while I call up the appropriate information now." C6-89 scanned a terminal screen behind the desk while he entered Meetra's name with robotic precision. "Apologies - I must inform you that your ship, the _Ebon Hawk_, is gone. Your possessions, however, were stored here in the TSF's armory. If you wish to collect them, I will open the door for you."

Meetra stared at the protocol droid for a long moment. "What do you mean 'gone?'"

"The TSF believes it stolen and has opened an investigation." C6-89's matter-of-fact tone would have been rage-inducing had he been capable of speaking any other way. "I regret that there is very little information I can give you, as both requester and point of destination are unknown. It is likely the security measures placed on the ship were bypassed, and the _Ebon Hawk_ was transferred to the surface of Telos from the impound dock instead of one of the citadel's hangers. Evidence seems to suggest the TSF's records were modified to hide the thief's destination."

Meetra turned to Atton and saw her deer-in-the-headlights look reflected on his face before anger replaced it. "That karking trash compactor! It's probably on its way to the inner rim right now, laughing at us…" He lowered his voice, grumbling to himself. "Laughing at me."

"Incorrect," C6-89 amended. "While your astromech was on the ship and therefore currently unaccounted for, our satellites show no evidence of the freighter leaving the system. I would conjecture it remains on the planet's surface."

"How can you be sure?" Meetra asked. "Your departure records were modified - why not the satellite feeds?"

"It would appear the thief was rushed or is inexperienced. I have investigated the data thoroughly and cannot detect any illegal alterations."

"Lucky us," Atton said sarcastically. "Ship's gotta be in one of the Restoration Zones. Not a lot of places they could have taken her."

"A reasonable assumption." C6-89 returned his attention to the terminal for a moment. "Lieutenant Grenn has ordered that your quarters are to remain available to you until this matter is resolved. As previously stated, I will open the armory so you may retrieve your belongings." A door at the back of the office slid open, revealing several large lockers lining the back wall. "The open locker contains your possessions."

"Thank you, C6." Meetra motioned for Atton and Kreia to follow her and entered the armory, testing the lockers until she found the open one. She withdrew their weapons, handing off the blasters and vibrosword to Atton and Kreia, as well as the mining harness and its contents. She buckled the harness on and turned back to her companions. "Well… now what?"

"I would think our course of action obvious," Kreia said, her tone so deadpan Meetra was unsure if she was being condescending or just blunt. "We require the _Ebon Hawk _to leave the system. If it is on the planet, then we must retrieve it."

"You got a shuttle hidden in those robes?" Atton smirked when she turned her blind glare on him. "We need a way off this station and access to the restoration zones. If we don't have codes to pass through the dome, they're going to be cleaning us off of it."

"We might have the second part," Meetra interjected. "The Ithorian who contacted us last night - didn't he say he was part of a restoration project? They would need access to the planet and the domes, right?"

Atton frowned. "I doubt they're going to help us out of the goodness of their hearts."

"Probably not, but it'll be worth it to get the _Ebon Hawk _back." Meetra left the armory and returned to C6-89's desk. "C6, can you give me directions to the local Ithorian herd?"

"Certainly, ma'am." He consulted his terminal briefly. "The Ithorian compound is located in the western section of Residential Module 082. Simply return to the module and exit to the left."

"Thank you," Meetra said, and she and her companions returned to the shuttle. As it left the station, she sat with her back to Telos, turing her staff over in her hands. Atton sat next to her and she glanced up at him. "You don't have to come with us, you know."

He frowned. "What?"

"To the Ithorians. I don't want to drag you along, and I'm sure you can find another ship to take you to Nar Shaddaa."

"Yeah, for a price." He smirked and leaned back against the tram wall. "I don't know about you, Jedi, but I'm a little light on credits. I'm willing to put up with a little inconvenience for a free ride."

She chuckled, the laugh warm and low in her throat. "I'm sure you're going to regret that, but thank you."

"Trust me - if I do, it'll be pretty low on the list." There was a note of bitterness in his voice that made Meetra glanced sideways at him, but it didn't show on his face. Her curiosity was piqued, but she refrained from picking at it. Everyone was entitled to their secrets.

After returning to the residential module, the three exited out into the western section, following the signage to the Ithorian compound. Upon entering, an Ithorian rose from behind the welcome desk and rushed (as much any Ithorian could) to meet them. "Master Surik! I'm relieved you have come."

"It's just Meetra," she corrected him, belatedly realizing that he was the same Ithorian she spoken to before. "Moza, right?"

"Yes, Meetra Surik." He glanced past Meetra to Atton and Kreia, an easy feat due to his wide-set eyes. His otherwise featureless face was impossible to read, but his voice carried an air of hesitation. "You've… all… come to speak to Chodo Habat?"

"We have," she confirmed. "Is he in?"

"Of course; please, follow me." Moza shuffled further into the compound, threading his way through several cubicles modified for Ithorian use. Several other Ithorians milling around the area paused to watch Meetra and her companions pass, rumbling softly among themselves. Moza led the three through a side door, where they found another Ithorian bent over a desk. He glanced up as Moza approached. "Chodo? Meetra Surik has come to speak with you."

"Master Surik!" Chodo moved to stand before her, delight suffusing his guttural voice. Now that he was standing fully, she could see that he was a bit taller than the other members of his herd, his face more lined with a slight cloudy tinge to his large brown eyes. "Your presence gladdens me. I am Chodo Habat, this herd's leader."

"Please, just Meetra. I no longer use a Jedi's title." Despite the claim, she heard herself slipping into the diplomatic tone she'd been trained to use when speaking with leaders and people in authority. "You requested our help?"

"Indeed; my apologies for the imposition, but before I sensed your arrival, I feared there was nowhere to turn."

"You are Force-sensitive." Meetra glanced back at Kreia, but the old woman's eyes were fixed on the Chodo.

He eyed Kreia warily, but nodded. "As a priest of my people, I have some connection to the Force." His gaze shifted back to Meetra. "Your people would call me an "adept. I have encountered few other Jedi, so when I detected your arrival, I was unsure; however, now that you stand before me, I am thankful I sent Moza to speak with you."

Meetra frowned. "What do you mean you were 'unsure?'"

Chodo hesitated. "There was… forgive me, I have trouble describing it." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "It is like… an 'echo,' a fracture or weakness in the Force. It is subtle; impossible to notice, unless one is actively listening. It was unnatural, born of great suffering - not of the body, but of the spirit." He glanced at her face and the lines around his eyes deepened. "Forgive me, Meetra Surik. It was not my intention to cause you pain."

"No, Chodo, it's - it wasn't your words." Meetra's heart hammered in her chest and her throat threatened to close on a sob, but she pushed the grief, freshly awakened by Chodo's pity away, compartmentalizing as she'd been taught. Behind her, safely out of sight, Atton clenched a fist, frustrated at his inability and partial unwillingness to comfort her. "I was separated from the Force for some time… but it's slowly returning."

"Actually, this… echo was part of the reason I had Moza approach you," Chodo admitted. "I have some skill with healing. In return for your assistance, and with your permission, I would like to attempt to expedite your recovery."

Meetra went still, eyes wide. "You can do that?"

"I do not have the skill of a Jedi, Meetra Surik, but I may be able to help."

"'May be.' 'Attempt.'" Kreia's mouth twisted into a sneer. "You are bold to offer half-promises of healing, Chodo Habat. The planet you have already committed to restoring still burns beneath this station, and you expect our faith in regards to an injury you have never before encountered?"

"Kreia." Even though it wasn't directed at him, Atton flinched at the sharpness of Meetra's rebuke. Kreia barely glanced at her, clearly not intimidated. "Thank you for the offer, Chodo; _any _help is appreciated. What do you need from us?"

Chodo eyed Kreia for a long moment before answering. "What do you know of the problems facing our restoration efforts on Telos?"

She paused, recalling the second contact she'd received last night. "I'm guessing the Czerka Corporation is throwing up a few roadblocks."

His eyes widened. "Indeed, Meetra Surik. Czerka seeks to stymie our efforts to restore Telos, though I have not yet ascertained their motives. Perhaps they seek something on the planet - regardless, they have used their influence in both the Telosian government and the Senate to hinder our progress."

"Don't know if you've noticed, but we're not exactly the lobbyist type," Atton said, the sarcasm slipping out before he could stop himself. He was relieved when Meetra inclined her head toward him in agreement.

"I was hoping to pursue more… _practical_ routes of persuasion," Chodo admitted. "Czerka has quite the military force at its command, and we have little ability to defend ourselves."

Atton crossed his arms, mouth curving up in a humorless half-smile. "You need muscle."

Chodo's eyes narrowed. "... In part. Czerka has a history of interfering with our deliveries, though it is difficult to tie the incidents back to them." He glanced at Meetra. "But with your skills, Meetra Surik, I think it will be more difficult for them to inconvenience us."

Meetra gripped her staff tighter and nodded. If a little intimidation was all the Ithorians needed, it was worth the effort to gain access to Telos' surface… and possibly restore more of her connection to the Force. "You have a deal, Chodo. Where do we start?"


	18. The Wrong Crowd

Atton slumped onto the bench, head tilted over the back. "I had no idea a bunch of pacifists could be so 'mercenary.' They're in the wrong business."

Meetra smiled at him over her shoulder, then returned to her inspection of the vivarium's pastel-bloomed bachani plant. Atton was exaggerating, but not by much. Chodo's "errands" had sent the three of them from one end of Citadel Station to the other: first to the docks to ensure the delivery of a new protocol droid, where a Czerka mercenary ambush had answered Meetra's questions about the fate of the droid's predecessor, and then back to the Residential Modules to "convince" a Duros engineer to hand over his technician credentials in order to reprogram the local Czerka office's reception droid. Not that it had been much of a shakedown - when the Duros revealed the debt preventing him from risking his job, Chodo had provided the funds without a second thought.

Now, it was just a matter of waiting until B-4D4, the droid saboteur, returned with the information he'd been sent to collect. Meetra had spent the time exploring the compound, Atton trailing at her heels. She wasn't sure where Kreia had disappeared to - likely she had found a hiding place as far from the Ithorians as possible. The old woman's distaste was almost palpable, and it wasn't limited to just Chodo - the Ithorians seemed to draw her ire just by existing. Meetra wasn't sure why; true, the aliens could be overly polite, and their idea of personal space was closer than she was entirely comfortable with, but they were otherwise pleasant.

"You are familiar with the properties of bachani?" Meetra started a bit at the vivarium keeper's rumble near her shoulder. Despite their size, the Ithorians were surprisingly light on their feet. He raised his hands and took a half step back, concern in his wide set eyes. "Forgive me, Meetra Surik. I did not intend to alarm you."

"It's fine; I was just a little lost in thought." She smiled reassuringly at him. "To answer your question, I know a little. An old friend had a bit of talent for botany." She omitted Alek's name, more for Atton's benefit than the Ithorian's. Though the guilt ate at her, she still couldn't bring herself to tell him how deep her connection to Revan and Malak went. Irrational as it seemed, part of her balked at the idea of him thinking less of her for it. "It has medicinal properties, right? From the blossoms?"

He nodded. "Its most basic use, yes. We're hoping to implement this in a slightly different fashion. You'll notice the specimens we have here are taller than average."

"I'll take your word for it."

The keeper chuckled. "Our hope is that by engineering their height, they will spread further - perhaps even outside the restoration zones. It is a hardy plant; it may be able to restore both the earth and the air, given enough time."

Meetra looked back at the plant. Its purple petals and thin frame didn't look like they would survive a stiff breeze, much less the ruined surface of Telos. In a way, it reminded her of Revan, before she'd been Revan - delicate beauty that hid a fearsome strength - and look at everything she'd accomplished, both wonderful and terrible. The bachani was in powerful company if the keeper was right.

Behind her, Atton lifted his head, watching her carefully. The moments when Meetra retreated into herself, when she was physically present but light years away in her head, were her most honest. He could only see one side of her face, but even that showed a longing so powerful it almost took his breath away. Sadness mingled with regret and reverie strong enough to make him want a drink, and the emotions weren't even his own. Part of him wanted to know her secrets, if only to properly console her - he'd never liked seeing a woman in pain - but a voice in the back of his mind kept him seated, the same thought on an endless loop: _Funny, you've caused more than one woman enough pain._

"Meetra Surik!" Atton straightened as Meetra turned at Moza's approach, pretending to examine his fingernails. Chodo's assistant was visibly excited, as much as any Ithorian could be. "My apologies for the interruption, but the droid B-4D4 has returned. Chodo requests your presence when it presents its information."

"Thank you, Moza." Meetra turned back to the vivarium keeper and gave him a small smile. "I wish you luck with the bachani." He inclined his head, wide eyes crinkling at the corners. Meetra retrieved her staff from near the door and moved to follow Moza out of the room, motioning for Atton to come along. He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance but stood and followed them back to Chodo's office. The Ithorian priest was there with B-4D4, as was Kreia, though Meetra was unsure who had informed her of the protocol droid's arrival. She met the old woman's blind gaze briefly, but Kreia just nodded toward Chodo.

"Ah, welcome back, Meetra Surik," Chodo rumbled in greeting, then waved a hand at the protocol droid. "Please, B-4D4. What were you able to retrieve from the Czerka mainframe?"

"A record of the Czerka Corporation's actions against your restoration project, Master Habat." B-4D4 handed over a datapad. "Additionally, I took the liberty of including any bribes or black market transactions made in regard to your restoration efforts."  
"Excellent." Chodo scrolled through the datapad's contents before passing it off to Moza. "With this evidence, Czerka will no longer be able to hide behind the Telosian government's ignorance - or its assistance. Have it sent to our contact in the Republic immediately." Moza inclined his head and shuffled out, datapad in hand, and Chodo turned back to the protocol droid. "Thank you for your assistance, B-4D4. You're free to return to your post."

"You're just going to let it go?" Atton tipped his head to the side, brow furrowed, as he glanced from Chodo to B-4D4 and back again. "You think that's wise? All it would take is one manual review of its memory core and Czerka will be at your doorstep."

"I doubt it would take even that much effort to bring Czerka to our door." Chodo's deadpan delivery was somewhat ruined by his natural Ithorian monotone. "However, I did have our technician implement some safeguards. B-4D4?"

The protocol droid shuffled to face Atton. "I assure you I will cause no trouble for Master Habat. There is a protocol in place that will activate as soon as I cross the compound threshold. The record of my time here will be stored in a compartment inaccessible to anyone but Master Habat or his secretary, including myself."

Atton shook his head. "Your funeral."

B-4D4 tottered back toward Chodo. "Will there be anything else, Master Habat?"

"No, you've done more than enough, B-4D4." Chodo gestured toward the door to his office. "Please, speak to Moza on your way out. He will help ensure safe passage back to Czerka." He waited until the protocol droid left the room before turning to Meetra. "I should be saying the same to you, Meetra Surik. Without your assistance, I fear our efforts to restore Telos would have been for naught. Now, we have a fighting chance."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here," Atton said, and the wry amusement in his voice didn't reach his eyes.

Chodo paused, eyes narrowing, and Meetra got the sense that if he'd had a visible mouth, the expression would have been very similar to the one Atton often elicited from Kreia. "Losing their hold in the Telosian government will inconvenience Czerka, but pocketed officials and the black market are not their only forms of support. If you will allow my selfishness for a while longer, I would ask one more favor of you."

"There's always a third," Atton muttered under his breath. Meetra glanced sharply at him over her shoulder and he rolled his eyes, moving to sit down in the nearest chair - at least, to the best of his abilities. Built with Ithorian proportions in mind, the seat was too wide and the back absent armrests, so the lazy affected slouch ended up as more of an awkward slump.

Still, Atton had a point, and Meetra kept her tone reserved when she spoke to Chodo. "What do you need from us?"

He hesitated, the thick digits on his hands interlacing and releasing rapidly - the first sign of nervousness he'd displayed in front of her. "Czerka has long held an… 'investment' agreement with Lopak Slusk, the, ah, head of the Citadel Station's Exchange branch." Atton barked a laugh, a noise somewhere between amusement and disbelief, and this time Meetra didn't rebuke him. Chodo refused to meet her eyes, his gaze trained on the floor. "I know what it means to ask this of you, Meetra Surik, but if Czerka continues to receive support from Slusk, our work will remain in danger, and Telos will suffer for it."

"Slusk is only the leader of _this_ branch, correct?" Chodo nodded, confusion in the tightened wrinkles around his eyes. "What about the head of the Exchange? I doubt he'd want his organization tied to Czerka's public fall out."

"You'll have to forgive her; she's not really up to date on current events." Atton smirked, not entirely unkindly, when Meetra glared at him. "Goto's not really a corporate complaint kind of guy. You don't find him unless he wants to be found, and as long as they keep the money flowing his way, he doesn't particularly care who his goons associate with."

"Your companion is right, Meetra Surik," Chodo rumbled. "When I first learned of the Exchange's association with Czerka, I attempted to contact their leader, but outside of his name, I could discover nothing about him. It seems few in the Exchange know more than even that." He started to fidget again, big hands twining around each other. "I would like to stress that I prefer Lopak Slusk severe his connection with Czerka of his own accord."

Atton chuckled. "He means try not to beat the guy to a pulp."

"I know what he means." Meetra frowned, bit the inside of her cheek. After a moment, she sighed and nodded. "I'll speak to him. But I can't promise he'll agree. If he doesn't…" She trailed off, the implication hanging between them.

Chodo nodded, brow furrowing. "Agreed. Thank you again, Meetra Surik. I know we ask too much."

"What you've offered in return is worth the risk, Chodo." Meetra smiled, small and sad. "Besides, I'm used to it. We'll be back when it's done." She turned and left the room without a word or a backward glance, Atton scrambling to his feet to follow her. Kreia leveled a blind stare at Chodo for a long moment before she left as well. The priest stood, wide eyes fixed on the doorway for a few beats, then he turned and crossed to his desk, sinking down into the chair with a heavy sigh.

Once outside the compound, Atton caught Meetra's arm, pulling his hand back quickly when she spun to face him. For a moment, there was something dark behind her expression, but it was quickly replaced with open curiosity. Whether this was a mask, or she was simply unaware of her initial emotion, he wasn't sure. "Can we pause for a minute and talk this through?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He stared at her flatly. "'A Jedi walks into the local Exchange office' doesn't have a very good punchline these days. _If_ you can even get in. I doubt Slusk is in the habit of giving tours to strangers off the street."

Meetra tightened her grip on her staff. "There's _always _a way in."

"I thought Jedi were supposed to be diplomatic."

"Good thing I'm not a Jedi."

Atton pressed a hand to his temple. "You're putting on a great act then. Jedi never did have a problem involving other people in their schemes."

Her eyes narrowed. "You _can _leave. I'm sure Chodo is willing to pay your fare."

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind." He turned to Kreia. "Care to step in here? You speak crazy Jedi; maybe you can convince her not to get us all killed." Atton stalked away a short distance, pretending to examine the nearest transport terminal. Meetra glared after him, anger rising hot in her chest before Kreia stilled it with a chuckle.

"While it amuses me to watch you turn your frustration on the fool, it is misplaced." Meetra transferred her glower to Kreia, but its edge was blunted on the old woman's blank stare. "Truthfully, I share your annoyance with Habat and his Ithorians; though not, I think, for the same reasons." Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "His audacity vexes me more than his requests. You realize he intends you to be a pawn; a means to his own ends."

"That's rhetorical, right." Meetra deadpanned, the response more statement than question. "If you see any other choices, please, enlighten me."

"I am simply trying to understand your motivations." If Kreia found Meetra's flippancy irritating, it didn't show. "If it is only to retrieve the _Ebon Hawk_, or even if you believe Habat's claims that he can restore you, I can understand. If not…"

Meetra scowled, but she couldn't make herself meet Kreia's eyes. "Why does it matter?"

"Because you are far too important to become entangled in these little lives." There was an edge to Kreia's voice now. "You are all that stands between the Sith and domination, and they are keenly aware of it. If you allow yourself to be distracted by the inconsequential struggles of this planet, you are not only dooming yourself, but the rest of the galaxy as well. How many of them will thank you then?"

Meetra was silent for a moment, eyes downcast. When she lifted her gaze to meet Kreia's once more, there was a flicker of defiance in it. "And if I ignore them now, how many will still be alive to thank me if I defeat the Sith? If I can help, I can't just step over them; it's not right. I already tried that, and it didn't end well."

Kreia shook her head, but she wasn't angry. "'A Jedi's life is sacrifice,'" she echoed, one corner of her mouth curving up in condescension at Meetra's scowl. "The past cannot be changed; what point is there in atoning for it? Tell me, would you act differently? Would you side with the Council, hiding behind bureaucracy and policies?"

"That's not the poi - "

"If your answer isn't no, then you do yourself a disservice." All humor was gone from Kreia's voice. "You discredit every decision that made you who you are now. Clinging to an infantile sense of right and wrong did not stop the Mandalorians. It will not stop the Sith." She paused, allowing the gravity of her words to sink in. "Now, we have wasted enough time. Regardless of your motives, we must retrieve the _Ebon Hawk_." She glanced past Meetra to Atton. "Which means we require your fool in a more cooperative mood."

Meetra scrunched her nose at the continued insult, but Kreia waved her off and made her way toward the shuttle dock. With another sigh, Meetra joined Atton at the terminal. He didn't turn toward her, but she saw him shoot a quick glance sideways at her. "So, still planning on rushing the front door?"

"If necessary." Now he did turn to face her, disbelief and anger mingling there before he realized she was mostly joking. "I'd… What do you suggest?"

Atton hesitated, scanning her face closely. There was still a measure of guarded vulnerability behind her eyes, but the rest of her expression was open, inviting even. He sighed and looked away. "Nobody gets that much power in the Exchange without making a few enemies. More than a few of his own would probably jump at the chance to set him up. You just have to know where to look."

Meetra tipped her head to the side, an eyebrow and one side of her mouth lifting in tandem. "And you know?"

Even under the corridor's harsh lighting, her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled, and Atton had no defense against it. "Where you find every self-respecting criminal at this time of day."

Citadel Station's cantina was a dim, noisy, crowded nightmare. Meetra stuck close to Atton, wincing against the assault on her senses. A duo of Bith musicians played a raucous set on a stage at the far end of the cantina, flanked on either side by a pair of Twi'lek dancers. Patrons mingled across the room, some forming an impromptu dance floor in front of the stage and others crowding seats at the bar and tables. Perhaps Kreia had the right idea when she'd decided to wait outside. Atton glanced back and, noting her distress, offered an arm and a smirk. Meetra made a face and punched his shoulder lightly, her sour look slipping into a grin when he laughed.

A scuffle broke out ahead of them and Atton stopped dead, Meetra colliding with him. He caught her arm, steadying her even as he gently pushed her back. A circle formed around two men, each being held back by another. One wore the familiar orange and yellow uniform of the Republic army, while the other was dressed in tan with a wide white scarf around his shoulders. Their speech was so slurred it took Meetra a few seconds to make out what they were shouting.

"Onderon has done nothing but benefit from joining us!" The Republic soldier tried to lunge at the other man, but his fellow held him too securely. "Security, peace, prosperity; what more do you Onderonians want?!"

"Talia sold us out to the Republic!" The Onderonian was further gone, nearly falling even as his friend tried to hold him up. "What prosperity? Iziz has been stripped of its wealth, its beauty, to furnish the inner planets! We have nothing to show for relinquishing our independence to the Republic!"

"We didn't turn your planet into a penal colony! If we hadn't stepped in, you'd be speaking Mando'a!"

"You didn't even conquer us!" Pain and rage flooded the Onderonian soldier's voice, causing it to break, and he clutched his friend's shoulder for support. "We were betrayed from within! Our own queen handed her people over without a second thought!"

A large Gamorrean pushed his way through the crowd, barkeep following in his wake, and stood between the two men, physically separating them while the protocol droid attempted to calm them down. With the prospect of a fight neutralized, the onlookers began to disperse and Meetra felt a gentle tug on her arm. She turned to find a tall, curvaceous Zeltron standing at the bar behind her, flanked by another Gamorrean. "Sorry about the show." She smiled, the white of her teeth stark against her shell-pink skin. "Don't think I've seen you around before. I'd remember a face like yours."

Meetra sensed more than saw Atton move closer to her, catching a glimpse of his hand hovering above a holstered blaster, and she took her cue from his caution, keeping her face carefully blank while tensing for a fight. "Just passing through."

The Zeltron grinned over her drink, her eyes, a shade darker than her skin, half-lidded and smoldering. "Just long enough to help the Ithorians?" Her gaze shifted over Meetra's shoulder, and Meetra risked a glance back. Atton's hand rested lightly on the grip of one of his blasters, the other, the one closest to her, held loosely at his side. "Relax. I'm not looking for trouble." She held a hand out to Meetra, who shook it robotically. "I'm Luxa. Join me for a drink?" She glanced at Atton again, the sultry look returning. "Your friend can come with. Two's company, but three's a party."

Luxa turned to the Gamorrean at her side and leaned up to whisper in his ear. She pointed at an occupied table and he lumbered off, Luxa signalling to the bartender as she followed in his wake. Meetra hesitated, half turning to Atton. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "Disgustingly attractive woman offering free drinks? Who says no to that?"

Her face scrunched. "Are you serio - "

"_And _the Exchange is the largest employer of Gamorreans in the Outer Rim."

Meetra's annoyance died in her throat. "She works for the Exchange?"

"Let's find out." Atton gave her a gentle push in the direction of the table, following close behind. The previous occupants, having a sudden urge to dance that had nothing to do with the Bith musicians and everything to do with Luxa's Gamorrean guard, had vacated, leaving a pair of open seats across from the Zeltron. The bartender reached the table just as they did, placing three identical glasses filled with acid-green liquid in front of them. Atton snatched one and downed half of it before the droid left the table, but Meetra left the glass meant for her where it was.

"So, beautiful." Luxa leaned forward, showing off the ample cleavage afforded by her bodysuit cut-outs, and took the third drink. "I didn't catch your name?"

"Meetra." She was grateful when no flash of recognition crossed Luxa's face.

The Zeltron smiled, white on pink. "Cute. Just like you."

Atton tossed back the remainder of his drink and leaned across the table to take Meetra's. "I'm Atton, by the way. In case you were making a list of names reflecting their owners' attractiveness."

Luxa shifted her gaze to him, a sardonic edge curving her smile. "No offense, pretty boy, but I invited you mostly for window dressing."

He shrugged and grinned into his glass. "I can work with that."

Meetra tapped the table to bring Luxa's attention back to her. "Not that we don't appreciate the hospitality, but what is it you want?"

"Business before pleasure, then?" Luxa rested her chin in her hand but remained leant over the table. "I'd heard Jedi could be stiff, but I was hoping for a _different_ sort." Meetra went still, fist clenched on the table, and wished she hadn't left her staff with Kreia. Next to her, Atton retained his aloof leisurely posture, but the hand not holding his glass disappeared beneath the table. Luxa glanced between them and rolled her eyes. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have got past the door. All I want is a bit of company and conversation. After that…" She lifted a hand to signal the bartender for another round of drinks. "We'll see where it goes."

"Bold of you to assume," Atton murmured into his drink. His free hand returned to the tabletop and Meetra released a breath she didn't realized she'd held.

Luxa tilted her head, smolder and smirk in place. "In my line of work, you get good at reading the room. If you want to stay in business, anyway." She paused while the droid dropped off three more glasses, this time full of a deep orange. "There've been… rumors that a Jedi is helping dig the Ithorians' thorn deeper into Czerka's side. I know Chodo Habat wants you to convince Slusk to break ties with Czerka."

"You're well-informed," Meetra said, tone carefully neutral.

"You know I'm Exchange." Luxa brushed the bluff away with a wave and pulled another drink to her. "And if you don't, _he _does." She tipped the glass toward Atton, whose only response was to toss back one of the new drinks. "I'm one of Slusk's lieutenants. I handle vice, mostly. Drugs, escorts, gambling; life's little pleasures."

"But it's not enough."

"Oh, I like you. You get me." She traced the lip of her glass with a finger. "That ambush you handled down at the docks? Those men were on loan from Slusk. It doesn't take much to put the pieces together, and unfortunately, Slusk is clever enough to do so." Luxa sobered, eyes narrowing. "Slusk isn't going to listen to you. Czerka, the Ithorians; neither of them matters more to him than Goto's bounty."

Meetra shook her head. "I'm not a Jedi."

Luxa laughed, low and throaty. "Beautiful, I've seen Jedi. They may have been out of the world for a while, but I have a good memory. From crown to heel, everything you do screams 'Jedi.' Slusk isn't stupid enough to miss that."

Atton set his empty glass down and reached for Meetra's, still untouched. "Not exactly telling us anything we don't know."

She smiled at him, sharp like glass. "You're awful chatty for curtains."

"He has a point." Meetra settled back in her chair, allowing herself to relax a little. She was familiar with Luxa's kind. A lust for power but stuck in middle management. "I think we're past the company and conversation."

"Fair enough." Luxa straightened, flirtatious pretense abandoned. "Help me help you. Take Slusk out and I'll fill the void. Goto doesn't care what we do or who's in charge, as long as the numbers stay consistent. If I run this branch of the Exchange, the Ithorians will never hear from Czerka again, and Goto will never know you were here."

Meetra stared at her for a long moment, then pushed her chair back from the table and stood. Startled, Atton drained the rest of his drink and followed suit. Luxa remained seated, watching Meetra's face closely. "I'm not killing your boss for you."

"Hey, I didn't say anything about killing." Luxa leaned back in her chair, tipping it onto its rear legs with one boot on the edge of the table for balance. "I can get you into the Exchange suites without Slusk knowing you're coming. After that, scare him off the station, convince him to see the error of his ways; it doesn't matter to me. Once he's out of the picture, I can take over. Czerka won't see another red cent from the Exchange, and you'll go your own way, completely under Goto's radar." She swallowed the last of her drink and set the glass down. "So, do we have a deal, beautiful?"

Meetra exchanged a look with Atton before answering. "Deal."

"Wonderful." Luxa tapped the hulking Gamorrean behind her with the back of her hand, and he produced a datapad and handed it to her. "The Exchange suites are in the Residential Modules, east of the Ithorians' compound. You know the way?"

"We'll find it."

The Zeltron's predatory grin sharpened. "I'm sure. The guard at the door is one of mine. Tell him I sent you and he'll get you in. After that, you're on your own, but you seem a capable sort." She waved at the bartender again. "Now, if you don't have any questions…"

Meetra nodded and strode away, glad to be out of Luxa's presence. She still felt the Zeltron's eyes on her, an itch between her shoulder blades. Atton caught up with her at the cantina's entrance. "You know this is probably a trap, right?"

"I'm open to any suggestions." With the noise of the cantina suppressed behind its heavy door, Meetra found she could think more clearly. In hindsight, of course Luxa's offer was a trap as much for her as Slusk, but it was marginally less suicidal than kicking down the front door. She glanced up at Atton. Despite taking both his drinks and hers, he seemed no less lucid than when they'd entered the cantina, regarding her searching look with a guarded one of his own. "You don't have to do this with me, Atton. Chodo really would help you off the Citadel, even if just as a favor to me. I know what it's like to be dragged unwilling into someone else's plan, a bad plan at that, and I don't want to do that to you."

He was silent for a moment and she started to grow uncomfortable under his gaze. It was almost as if he could see past her lies of omission to the truth she concealed, the things she was most ashamed of. Then he grinned and shook his head, releasing her from his appraisal. "And be indebted to you and the Ithorians? No thanks, beautiful."

"Stop it."

"Oh, I can't say it, but the Exchange thug guaranteed to betray us can?" Atton rolled his eyes, but the lingering smile was genuine. Only teasing. "Look, for once, and I can't believe I'm saying this, I'd rather earn my way. You're a bad influence, Jedi." The grin turned mischievous. "Besides, I'm not missing Kreia's reaction when you tell her how we're getting into the Exchange." Meetra's trepidation must have been evident on her face because he laughed as he turned away, heading to the pre-arranged rendezvous where Kreia would be waiting. Meetra sighed and hurried after him, steeling herself for Kreia's displeasure. There was a good chance Atton wouldn't be the only one with the fool moniker for much longer.

* * *

Author's Note: This is going to serve as a combination apology/explanation/update sort of note. The reason for this chapter being a little late is that I am moving and changing jobs in a few weeks, so there's been a lot of packing and cleaning. Hopefully this won't affect the next update too much as I will have a little downtime between moving and starting the new job, but if that happens, just know that it's only IRL stuff getting in the way and the fic hasn't been abandoned. I would also like to thank those of you sticking with me despite these setbacks. You all are the best and it means the world to me that you love this thing enough to stay with it even when the updates are a tad late.


	19. Messy Business

"I wish to point out that this course of action is foolish," Kreia muttered. She stalked along Meetra's right as the three approached the Exchange suites, her vibroblade held in a loose but firm grip.

"Heard you the first three times, Majesty," Atton snapped from Meetra's other side, ignoring the glare Kreia shot him. His weapons were still holstered, but his left hand rested lightly on the butt of a blaster and his movements were tight and controlled. Meetra mirrored his anxiety, her spine ramrod straight, fingers white-knuckled against the length of her staff. She was no stranger to fighting, but she'd avoided it for nearly a decade; to seek it out now, and for reasons that her peers would have considered selfish, felt wrong somehow. Some of the old teachings ran too deep.

The gray-green Rodian standing guard at the door straightened as they approached, his large faceted black eyes darting between each of them. His natural musk, already strong, flooded out from him to permeate the air, eliciting both revulsion and nostalgia in Meetra. When she was young, she'd had to room with a Rodian padawan who suffered from night terrors. That sleeping arrangement had barely lasted two weeks, before which Meetra was sure she would suffocate. The Rodian before her, cloudy green rather than the emerald of her old bunkmate, drew himself up as she approached, his full height still a few inches beneath her own, and spoke, the sharp nasal tones tinged with aggression and fear. "Get lost, Jedi. You have some pretty big rocks to show your face around here, but you have no business with the Exchange unless you're turning yourself in."

Meetra felt rather than saw Atton tense beside her, his hand tightening on the blaster hilt. She reached out and put a steadying hand on his arm, waiting until she felt him relax, the wiry muscles under the jacket loosening a fraction, before removing it. Her eyes didn't leave the Rodian's. "Luxa sent us."

His snout crimped, antennae curling down toward his forehead. "Luxa didn't say you were… Do you know what you're getting into? Slusk knows you're a Jedi. You think he won't jump at the chance to turn you over to Goto?" He shook his head, voice quavering. "He doesn't need you alive."

Meetra smiled, and the expression was not a happy one. "I know."

The Rodian hesitated a moment longer, then turned and thumbed a speaker to the side of the door. "Hey, Vula! Slusk has a visitor. Everything checks out, so open up, will ya?"

There was a long moment of silence, followed by a heavy thunk as the door locks released, and the Rodian turned back to Meetra, the approximate of a sorrowful expression on his inhuman features. "Good luck, Jedi." Before she could answer, he rabbited, leaving the three of them to stand alone as the suite cycled open.

Meetra led the way, staff held defensively in front of her, but the room's only occupant was a human woman with mousy brown hair seated behind a desk tucked into the far corner. She lifted her head, frowning at the three armed interlopers, then glanced back at the datapad on her desk. "I'm afraid there's been a miscommunication - Director Slusk has no appointments today. I'm not sure why Koobis wanted you buzzed in, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave." She stepped around the desk, one arm held out in the direction of the door.

"Vula, right?" When the woman nodded, Meetra relaxed her grip on her staff and forced an easy grin. She imbued her words with the Force, impressing her will into each syllable. "Slusk is a busy man; I'm sure he just forgot to write down our appointment." Meetra waved toward the entryway beyond Vula's desk, fingers twisting in a complicated gesture. "You can make an exception this one time."

Vula's face went slack, her gaze vacant, for a moment, then she blinked and her eyes focused on Meetra again. "That's not possible. Again, I have to ask you to leave."

Meetra frowned, but tried again, putting more power behind her words. "Either way, we need to speak with Slusk." She made the spiraling gesture again. "You can let us through to see him."

"No." Vula's voice was firm. She stepped back behind the desk, one hand disappearing beneath its surface. "Please leave, or I will have to call security."

Meetra stared at her, completely at a loss, but Atton stepped in. He crossed to the desk, leaned an arm on it, blaster in hand, and flashed Vula a vicious grin. "Here's the thing: we're going in there to see Slusk. Now, you can help us with that and open the door, or we can… _remove _you from the situation and let ourselves in. Your choice."

Vula's eyes, large and dark, widened further with every word. Her visible hand shook, the short nails clattering against the surface of the desk. Meetra moved to stand next to Atton and gently touched his arm. He glanced sideways at her, but she kept her eyes on Vula. "We just want to talk to Slusk, that's all. You can leave - none of us will come after you, and Slusk never has to know you let us through." When Atton didn't move, she pressed down a little harder on his arm. "We don't want to hurt you, Vula." At this, he seemed to get the hint and slid his arm off the desk.

The receptionist's hand hovered in the liminal space at the edge of the desk, wavering between above and below, then she lifted it to the terminal on top. "G-go on in, but he has guards. Gamorreans and bounty hunters, mostly." The door behind her slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing a wide communal space similar to the Ithorians' compound. "Take a right out that room and follow the hallway to the end. You'll find Slusk's office." Vula's gaze darted between Atton and Meetra, with a quick glance back at Kreia. "I - I can really just go?"

"Of course," Meetra said, and Vula fled almost before the words were out of her mouth.

Atton watched her go until she was out of sight, then turned back to Meetra. "So… what was all that?" He waggled his fingers in a vague imitation of hers.

"A perfect example of running before one learns to walk." Kreia joined them and cast a sour look at Meetra. "It would be wise to avoid exposing your weaknesses so blatantly." Meetra flinched at the rebuke, but didn't disagree. Her connection to the Force was returning, but her abilities were progressing much slower. However, the idea of threatening a woman simply doing her job wasn't any more appealing. Kreia shook her head and motioned toward the now open door. "Shall we continue with the foolishness?"

"Need a hammer to drive that point deeper?" Atton snarked, but Kreia ignored the jab. He turned to Meetra again. "The sooner we get this over with…"

"I know." She gripped her staff tighter and started forward, the other two following in her wake. The wide area was empty save for a handful of desks and the odd bench. Whether the occupants had all left for the day or if the furniture was simply window dressing, it wasn't clear, and in all honesty, it hardly mattered. Fewer people to fight was perfectly fine with Meetra. With Atton and Kreia in tow, she threaded her way through the desks to the hallway Vula had indicated. They passed through the door at the end and stopped dead at the tableau before them.

Half a dozen people were crowded around two tables in the room: an almost even split between aliens and humans, all very clearly armed. The last was obviously Slusk; Quarren were hardly difficult to identify. He was the first to recover from the surprise entrance, glassy blue eyes narrowing as his mouth tentacles flared outward from his face. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; only a Jedi would be so bold as to deliver herself to the Exchange." His tentacles folded neatly beneath his jaw as he composed himself. "It hardly matters with the bounty on your head, but what possessed you to trespass here? Was your freedom such a burden?"

"You're mistaken, Slusk." Meetra kept her tone light, hoping the breeziness would put Slusk at ease. Judging from the way his tentacles curled up toward his mandibles, he thought himself in control. "I'm not a Jedi." Slusk made a guttural noise, the Quarren equivalent of forcing air through the nose in amusement. "I'm just here on behalf of the Ithorians."

"And what do those cud-chewers want from me?"

Meetra leaned against her staff, her posture loose, but still ready to launch herself at Slusk's throat if he made the wrong move. "You know the situation with Czerka and the restoration effort. Czerka's had a rough go of it recently." She shrugged, implying her involvement without confirming it. "At this point, I think it would be more costly for you to continue working with them."

"You are good for a small moment of humor, Jedi." Slusk's mandibles fluttered in silent laughter. "I couldn't care less about those hammerheads and their squabbles with Czerka. Should they become an actual problem, I'll take care of them myself." He turned away, moving toward an exit on the opposite side of the room, and continued to speak over his shoulder. "Matu, Nahata, Benok: bring me whoever's working the door. _After _you dust these fools." The door slid shut behind him.

Meetra lunged forward before it closed entirely, catching sight of her companions moving with her. She collided with the nearest bounty hunter, a yellow-green Rodian, as Kreia swirled past to engage the the room's lone Aqualish. Atton dropped an elbow onto one of the tables, flipping it onto its side for cover. He leaned around it and opened fire on a second Rodian and a human standing too close together. They scattered, but not before he managed to wing the former.

Matu, Meetra's Rodian, rolled with her strike, tumbling out of reach of the staff, then stood, pulling a pair of cruel blades from their holsters on his waist. He feinted to the left and darted in toward her right when she swung, earning a right hook to the face as a reward for falling for the ruse. He reeled back and Meetra aimed a swing at his knees, but he managed to stagger out of the way with only a glancing blow. Matu recovered quickly and threw one of the death blades back at her. Meetra swept a hand through the air, sending the weapon tumbling harmlessly to the side, and threw herself at Matu again. She collided bodily with him this time, slamming a shoulder into his chest as she drove the end of her staff up into his chin. The blow laid the Rodian out cold and Meetra rolled away from his body. Blaster fire struck the ground near her feet and she darted behind the flipped table, smacking into Atton's back. He cursed as he caught himself, but his grip was gentle when he reached back to push her upright. "Nice of you to drop in. Your guy down for the count?"

"For now. Still leaves us with four."

"Three. Thanks for paying attention." He leaned around the table again and fired off another volley of shots. The other Rodian, a blue-green variety, answered with his own blaster. His human ally lay nearby, too motionless to be unconscious. Atton jerked back behind cover, his shoulder against Meetra's a solid comfort in the chaos. Blaster fire peppered her side of the table and she curled closer to Atton to stay behind cover. Somewhere on the other side came a gurgled scream, made more garbled by Aqualish vocal cords; it was suddenly cut short and Atton grimaced. "And then there were two. Ready?"

Meetra nodded. She gathered her legs beneath her and threw herself out from behind the table, using the Force to further the jump. Blaster fire followed her, but momentum kept her safe. She slid to a stop and reoriented on the other human, Benok, and threw out her hand, channeling the Force down on him. He flew backward into the wall with a heavy thud, his blaster flying out of his slackened grip. Meetra charged, but Benok recovered quickly and yanked a vibrocutter free from his belt. He met her head on, weapons crossed, and kicked out at her stomach. She threw herself back in time to avoid the full strength of the blow, but she still stumbled, grip loosening on her staff. Benok thrust the vibrocutter under her guard and hooked it around the staff, pulling it free of her hands and yanking her forward, then swung the blade at her neck.

Lightning arced across the room as Meetra dropped to the floor to avoid the vibrocutter. Benok's spine arched, his body quivering in place for a long moment before he fell to the floor in a heap, blade clattering to the side. Meetra kicked it away before hesitantly rising from her crouch. Kreia lowered her hand, a flicker of energy still playing around the tips of her fingers and the ghost of a smile on her lips. Atton stepped out from behind the table, the second Rodian handled, and joined Meetra, one blaster trained on Benok's motionless form. She knelt and felt at the man's throat. His pulse was there, but weak and thready. Rising, she cast a sideways glance at Kreia, but the old woman was focused on cleaning her vibroblade and didn't meet her eyes.

Atton's hand on her shoulder startled Meetra, but she contained her flinch and let him pull her around to face him. "Are you alright?" She frowned and followed his gaze to her stomach. The hem of her tunic on the right side was stained dark red, a thin tear in the fabric exposing a shallow gash along her torso from the bottom of her rib cage to the top of her cloth pants. She stared at it, almost without seeing. Matu's second blade must have caught her when she bum rushed him; she hadn't even felt it. Still didn't, even now.

Meetra glanced back up to see Atton watching her closely, and she forced a smile. "It's okay - just a scratch." Compared to the scar on her leg, anyway. She retrieved her staff and made for the door Slusk had disappeared through, trusting Atton and Kreia to follow. Inside was another conference area, this one smaller than the first, with another door leading out and a single Gamorrean occupant. Meetra tensed, but he held up his hands to show he was unarmed. She shared a frown with the others before turning back to the Gamorrean. "So, what is this?"

"My loyalties lie with Luxa," he rumbled, shrugging massive shoulders. "She says you are strong; I want to see how strong you really are." He put a hand on the door control panel; just one of his fingers covered half of it. "I will let you in, but you are on your own from there. Slusk will not be entirely unprepared." The Gamorrean pressed the intercom switch, the plate creaking under the pressure. "Boss! Matu is here with Koobis. He is the fool who let the Jedi in. You want to see him now?"

"Of course." Slusk's voice came back in a burst of static. "Is the Jedi dead?"

"As dead as the rest of them." He released the switch and gestured toward the door as the heavy locks thumped free, lumbering past the three as it cycled open. "Try not to die." Meetra clenched her jaw and strode through, gathering the Force around her for comfort. It rang a little hollow, her connection still too weak and abilities too shaky.

To his credit, the only indication of Slusk's shock was the way his tentacles flared outward from his face. He rose from behind his desk and came around to stand in front of it, undaunted by three armed intruders. Meetra stopped a few meters from him and held her staff away from her in one hand, her grip loose, free hand half raised in the air. "I meant what I said before: we're just here to talk."

"Yes, as evidenced by the bodies no doubt left in your wake." Slusk scowled, cloudy eyes narrowing. "Will shedding my blood satisfy you, Jedi?"

"It doesn't have to come to that. Pull your support, and you never have to see us again."

"And admit to Goto that I have lost both Czerka's loyalty and the very thing he has scoured the galaxy for since Revan's disappearance?" His low guttural laugh was laced with bitterness. "I'm glad you find my situation humorous enough to jest."

"Goto doesn't have to know. You could leave the station, go to a planet beyond the Exchange's control."

"Foolish woman." Slusk's mandibles quivered with silent laughter, but the constant contraction of his tentacles betrayed his anxiety. "Nowhere is beyond Goto's reach. You ask me to give up my power? You are asking me to end my own life." He squinted at her suddenly, tentacles curling close to his neck. "Asking me to leave the Exchange, flee the station - this is not your idea. Who have you spoken to?"

"Do you really have to ask, Loppak?"

Meetra turned sharply, Atton and Kreia mirroring her. Luxa strode into the office, flanked on either side by two large Gamorreans. The one on her left gave Meetra a nod and a wink - the guard who'd let them into Slusk's office. He'd found a large axe between then and now. Luxa batted her lashes at Meetra. "Gotta hand it to you, gorgeous: you are so much more efficient than I'd hoped. Thought I'd have to fight at least a couple of his boys."

"Luxa. I should have guessed," Slusk rumbled. He closed his eyes briefly, as if her betrayal caused him physical pain. "I knew your ambition would be the death of me." He reached behind the desk and pulled out a long vibrosword, tossing its sheath to the side. "I'm sorry, Jedi. I doubt it will be possible for all of us to leave this room alive."

"Wait - just _wait_." Meetra held a hand out toward both Slusk and Luxa. Atton shot her a furious glare, but she ignored it. "You _can _leave, Slusk. Take enough credits to get off the station, enough to get past the Outer Rim. Find a planet in uncharted space where you can lay low for a few years, and Goto won't find you." She took a step toward him, careful to keep her staff held out away from her. "Luxa just wants control of this branch of the Exchange. That's all."

For a moment, there was only silence, and then Slusk began to laugh, a deep chuckle that sounded like asphyxiation. "You're serious." His mandibles continued to flutter as he held a hand out to Luxa. "I must give you credit, my dear. Only you would find the galaxy's most gullible Jedi." The hazy eyes returned to Meetra. "You think she will let you go if you help her? That she won't turn you over to Goto and claim the bounty for herself?" Meetra said nothing and Slusk's laughter faded as he met her eyes. "No, you didn't think that - but you hoped. We are both betrayed; at least you were prepared for it." Without another word, he launched himself at her. Meetra dove to the side, the Force-aided lunge carrying her across the room. Slusk didn't deviate, thrusting his vibrosword at Luxa's midsection. She danced back out of range as one of her Gamorrean goons intercepted the blade with his axe.

The office erupted into chaos. Kreia engaged the other Gamorrean while Atton dove behind Slusk's to provide cover fire, and Luxa turned her attention to Meetra. She peppered the far wall, but Meetra was already moving, body low to the ground as she closed the distance between them. Luxa leapt back, but Meetra lashed out with the Force, throwing her off balance, and she hit the floor. Meetra brought her staff down hard, but the Zeltron rolled clear at the last second. She reached inside Meetra's guard and caught her across the face with a sharp right hook.

Meetra staggered back, dazed, and Luxa darted forward, only to be sent skipping back by a burst of blaster fire from Atton. The moment bought Meetra enough time to recover and she retreated, staff held protectively in front of her. Luxa abandoned pursuit to return Atton's shots, turning briefly when Kreia's blade elicited a squeal from one of the Gamorreans, and Meetra took the opportunity to rush her. Luxa half-turned back in time to catch Meetra's shoulder in her stomach, breath leaving her in a rush as their combined weight bore her to the ground.

Before Meetra could pin her, Luxa kicked free, wheezing something in guttural Gamorrean. The nearest of her goons peeled off from his fight and lumbered to her aid, swinging the savage battleaxe at Meetra's torso. She fell back and rolled away before registering that he hadn't followed her. She scrambled to her feet and turned back, staff thrust out to ward off a sudden blow.

The Gamorrean took a few stumbling steps, his axe slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers, and frowned at her, brows scrunched low over porcine eyes. Meetra's gaze dropped to his chest and the reason for his confusion became clear. The last inch or so of a vibrosword jutted out from his abdomen just beneath the rib cage. As Meetra watched, the blade slid free with a vicious twist and the Gamorrean grunted, one hand lifting to touch the dark green blood dribbling down his stomach. He fell to the floor before his fingers reached their destination.

Revealed by his victim's fall, Slusk flicked verdant blood from his weapon before leveling the blade at Meetra. Blaster bolts peppered the floor and furniture nearby as Atton and Luxa exchanged fire, but he didn't flinch, hazy eyes fixed on hers. "I confess, there is a part of me that regrets my role in your fate, Jedi. The destruction of a noble people… no man truly wants that on his conscience."

"You can rest easy then," Meetra said, voice suddenly thick in her throat. "From everything I've been told, the Jedi killed themselves - and there are no Jedi here."

Slusk let out a garbled cry, an expression of primal rage more than words, and lunged toward Meetra, bringing his vibrosword down in a sharp arc. Meetra caught the blade with her staff and shoved Slusk back, her strength augmented by the Force. Slusk skidded a few feet before catching himself and renewed his assault with an increased fury. Meetra held against the onslaught briefly before retreating out of his ranged and flinging a potted plant with a flick of her hand. The impromptu missile clipped Slusk's shoulder, half-spinning him around and sending him to one knee. She took the moment to try and reach him again. "It doesn't have to be this way! There's a compromise; there always is!"

"Was there a compromise for the Sith?" Slusk snarled, the words almost lost in his gnashing mandibles. "Was there a compromise for the Mandalorians? Your words are empty!" He pushed himself to his feet and stalked toward her, his tentacles a corona around his face. "I meant what I said: the Jedi were a noble people. But they did not compromise. A pity that the last of them should be such a poor excu - " Slusk's tirade cut short as his head snapped sideways with a sudden impact and he collapsed in a heap, a fink pink mist permeating the space he vacated.

"He always did love the sound of his own voice." Luxa mimed blowing smoke from her blaster barrel, her wide grin revealing she knew exactly how ridiculous the action was and how little she cared. Meetra dragged her gaze from Slusk's body to his desk, only now registering the absence of Atton's blaster fire. She could just barely see the top of his head, slumped against the wall, and a spattering of red across the chrome behind him. Luxa followed her gaze, the corner of her raspberry lips curving upward. "That's the problem with friends, sweetheart. You look away for two seconds and they get into all sorts of trouble." Her grin widened, belying her saccharine tone. "Pity. He _was _cute in that scruffy, bad boy kind of way."

The rage was there almost before Meetra realized it, hot and heady in her chest, fizzling as it spread through her body. It had always been nearer to the surface for her than most padawans - something her teachers had tried to suppress and Revan had encouraged her to cultivate - but after her exile, she'd fought to keep the anger, at bay, no matter how good it felt. But right now, anger felt a lot better than helplessness.

Meetra launched herself at Luxa, a wordless shout tearing free from her throat. The Zeltron backpedaled, firing wildly, but Meetra drew the Force around her, the thin layer of energy deflecting the bolts. She felt the heat as they passed, close enough to singe her tunic, but she was too angry to care. Luxa leapt to the side, a move Meetra anticipated. She swung her staff wide, the end colliding with the Zeltron's knees in a satisfying crack. Luxa fell with a scream, the thin blaster sliding out of her grasp. Meetra kicked it away and reached for her, but Luxa struggled to her feet, a Rodian death blade suddenly in her hand. She drove Meetra back with a few slashes, limping slowly forward as Meetra retreated.

"Not just yet, gorgeous." Luxa's voice hissed through clenched teeth, but she continued to follow Meetra doggedly. "Gonna take more than that to keep me on my knees. Honestly, though, if I'd known you cared so much, I'd have let Slusk kill him. You're beautiful when you're angry." Meetra's jaw clenched and she lunged forward, staff slicing through the air, but Luxa ducked, catching the staff on the backswing with her death blade and yanking it out of Meetra's hands. Her grin sharpened as she tossed the rod aside. "And impulsive. I'm starting to believe that 'not a Jedi' claim." She pressed forward as Meetra continued to retreat. "What's wrong? All that heat burn itself out? He must've really meant something to you."

"I don't like to lose people." Meetra didn't rise to the bait, but fury cut every word short. She took another step back and the heel of her boot collided with a long, thin object, sending it skittering a short way to her left.

Luxa's gaze flicked away to follow the noise, returning before Meetra could take advantage of the distraction. "Careful now. You might fall and cut yourself." She chuckled, but Meetra ignored the jibe, focusing instead on the inadvertent confirmation: she'd kicked Slusk's vibrosword. It was too far for her to reach, even if she threw herself towards it; the trajectory would only put her in the path of disembowelment and Luxa wasn't likely to miss. A voice echoed softly in the back of her mind, faded with time and experience, cutting through the red haze of anger: _She's a brilliant tactician, but I worry her emotions will put her in jeopardy. That anger keeps her from thinking like a Jedi. _The faint sting of reproach helped to clear her thoughts. She slipped one hand behind her back and reached out through the Force, feeling her way across the floor. The process was slow and her patience threatened to fray, but she kept at it until she felt the metaphysical "fingers" close around the vibrosword's hilt.

Meetra's concentration slowed her steps and Luxa responded in kind, smile fading a bit as her confidence wavered. "What's going on behind that beautiful face, hmmm?" The smirk returned and she started toward Meetra again. "Don't worry, I'll make it quick. I'd never have gotten here without you, so it's the least I can do." A slight tense of her good knee was all the warning Meetra had before Luxa lunged, the obsidian blade bearing down in a wide arc. Meetra yanked on the Force tendrils around the vibrosword and it snapped through air into her hand. She thrust it out in front of her as Luxa closed the distance.

The Zeltron's death blade went wide as it tumbled out of her hand, but it struck Meetra's shoulder as it fell, keenly honed edge carving a short gash through the cream cloth and into her skin. Meetra flinched, a hiss of pain escaping between her teeth, but she held fast to the vibrosword and pushed it deeper into Luxa's belly. Blood spattered Luxa's mouth and stomach, the crimson dark against her amaranth skin. She coughed once, twice - the wet rasp of a collapsed lung, if the angle of the vibrosword's entry was any indication - and blood misted Meetra's face and chest. Luxa's hands folded around Meetra's on the hilt, tugging feebly at her fingers, but her strength was gone, leaking out along the vibrosword's blade. Her legs gave out and Meetra released the hilt, letting her fall. Luxa continued to writhe, a pinned specimen who'd come loose from its board, and she struggled to pull the weapon free, but her movements were slower, coordination almost nonexistent. A few moments and she stilled completely, the light fading from her rose pink eyes.

Meetra staggered back, rage bleeding out as swiftly as Luxa's life. Her stomach lurched, the few contents threatening to escape its confines, but she pushed the nausea back down with a deep breath. Registering the sudden quiet, she looked up to find Kreia watching her. The second Gamorrean was dead at her feet, several long slashes still oozing green criss-crossing his body, but Kreia's blade was clean. Meetra's chest constricted, the anger threatening to resurface. "How long have you - "

A low groan floated up from behind Slusk's desk, and Meetra broke off mid-sentence as she spun to face it. With a last glare for kreia, she crossed the room swifly and ducked behind it to find Atton trying to push himself into a sitting position with his right arm. His left rested in his lap and he was clearly doing his best not to jar it. Atton started at her appearance, but he managed a weak grin. "You know, I've had more than one person tell me a beautiful woman would be the death of me. You'd be surprised how often they're almost right."

"I absolutely wouldn't." Her bluntness startled a laugh out of him, quickly cut short with a wince. "Where are you hurt?"

"Well, my ego's a little bruised - I was sure Luxa thought I was too handsome to kill." Meetra resisted the urge to smack him and settled for a stern look. "Alright, serious answers only, then. She caught me in the shoulder with a lucky shot. Cracked my skull pretty good when I fell, too. Probably accounts for the gap in the last few minutes."

Meetra investigated Atton's shoulder more closely. The leather of his jacket was indeed darker there and she could make out a hole in the fabric, the edges charred by the bolt's passage. Leaning around him, she found a matching hole on the opposite side of his shoulder. "Looks like a through and through. Are you bleeding?"

"Don't think so. Pretty sure it's cauterized." Atton wiggled his fingers. "I think everything is mostly still in working order. Gonna be down a gun for a while, though."

"I'll take that over none" She moved to his other side and pulled his uninjured arm over her shoulder, her free hand looping around his waist. "Ready?" She waited for his nod and then stood, pulling him up with her. A hiss of pain escaped him as the movement tugged on his shoulder, but he waved away her concern as he lifted his arm from her shoulders. Meetra knelt to retrieve his blasters and held them while he reholstered each with his good arm, earning herself a rare genuine grin before stepping away to retrieve her staff. She avoided looking at Luxa and Slusk's bodies as she passed, but her stomach still performed a traitorous somersault. She turned back in time to catch Atton looking from her to the Zeltron's corpse. Meetra steeled herself for the congratulations, the well-meaning praise ignorant of the burden that comes with taking a life, but he said nothing, only nodded once and turned away. She followed, sweeping past Kreia without a word, and left the room, Atton close behind. Kreia trailed after them, silent save for the faint brush of her robes against the station floor.

* * *

The shuttle ride back to the Residential Modules was quiet, almost oppressively so. The three had the entire car to themselves; the few people occupying the station when they arrived had universally elected to wait for the next shuttle. Meetra sat against the station-side, Atton in the seat next to her. Kreia stood at the far end, her back to them. She hadn't spoken a word since leaving the Exchange suites, but Meetra couldn't shake the feeling that the old woman was watching her - like she was waiting for something. It was unpleasant, like the hair standing up on the back of her neck, or blood drying on the skin.

Her stomach rebelled at the thought and Meetra clenched her jaw against the bile threatening to climb up her throat. She saw Luxa's face again - mouth slack and bloody, eyes wide, deep pink floating in a sea of white - and knew it would join the others already in her nightmares. They all looked the same: mouths agape, eyes unblinking and then unseeing.

"Hey." She glanced sideways at Atton, grateful for the distraction. He gestured at his face with his good hand. "You've, ah, you've got a little... " He trailed off helplessly.

Meetra swiped at her chin and her fingers came away smeared with pale red. She grimaced and rubbed her hand against her leggings, then pulled her sleeve over her palm and wiped her face and jaw. The friction generated a copper-and-salt smell that aggravated her gag reflex and transported her back to Dxun and Serroco. She let her arm fall, off-white cotton stained the color of Luxa's skin, and turned back to Atton. "Better?" Her voice was flat and toneless, a facsimile of itself.

"Uh, yeah." Something flickered behind his eyes, a gap in the passive mask. He kept his voice neutral, though. "You alright?"

"I'll manage." It was something of the truth, at least. The cuts on her stomach and shoulder were beginning to burn, the former still seeping beads of blood when she shifted the wrong way, but it was nothing compared to the wounds she'd received during the wars. And Atton wasn't complaining. It felt wrong to lament a couple of scratches when he was sporting literal holes in his flesh.

Her thoughts drifted back to Kreia, gaze following. The old woman could've stepped in, helped Meetra subdue Luxa, but she hadn't. She'd stood there, watched her take the Zeltron's life, self-defense though it was, and Meetra couldn't shake the thought that Kreia _wanted_ her to kill Luxa. What eluded her was the motivation behind it. What did Kreia gain from an addition to Meetra's body count? She shook her head, pressed her thumbs against her closed eyes to assuage the headache lurking there. Whatever Kreia's reasoning, it wouldn't hurt to take a page out of Atton's book and treat her with a bit more skepticism in the future.

The reception at the next station wasn't any better than the first. Commuters gave them a wide berth and Meetra spotted on trying to surreptitiously thumb his commlink. Grenn was going to be thrilled. Meetra ignored the uneasy murmurs and led the way back into the thoroughfare. People cleared the way for them and Meetra avoided meeting their eyes. The combination of fear and awe was too familiar.

"Meetra Surik!"

The shout drew her up sharply and she heard Atton curse as he swerved to avoid colliding with her. Moza shambled down the corridor toward them, as fast as his shortened gait could carry him. "I feared I would not find you, but…" He trailed off as he realized the explanation was pointless. "Master Surik, we need your help! Something terrible has happened, and we were unable to contact you, and - "

"Moza, slow down." Meetra imbued her words with the Force, almost without realizing, but unlike with Vula, it was successful. Moza visibly relaxed, the panic leaving his eyes as his limbs loosened and the tension lifted from his shoulders. "What happened?"

"Czerka." He spat the word like a curse. "They invaded the compound, took people hostage." His voice broke and tears filled his eyes. "Some of my herd are dead, Meetra Surik. Chodo, he - he helped me get out, told me to find you. They captured him as I fled… they have already sent me demands, threatened to kill him if I do not comply." Moza's voice was thick, almost too distorted for translation. "Please, Meetra Surik; I have nowhere else to turn. The TSF will not make it in time, and we cannot fight them on our own."

A weariness settled over Meetra, familiar and unwelcome. How many times before had someone come to her, alone or with Revan seeking her help? Proclaiming her and her friends their last hope because they were not strong enough to fight their own battles? Embarrassment followed close on the thought's heels. How cynical she'd become in a decade. Moza, Chodo, and the rest of the Ithorians weren't asking only for themselves. If she didn't help them, the refugees of Telos would never again set foot on their planet.

She turned to Atton, found he was already watching her. "I can handle this. You don't have - "

"Yeah, yeah. Let me earn my ride, alright?" He pushed past her, but she noted he was careful not to jar his injured shoulder as he went. Meetra stared after him for a moment. Then turned to Kreia. The old woman's blind gaze seared into hers, but she said nothing and Meetra responded in kind. After several beats, Kreia broke the stare and stepped past to follow Atton, a wordless indication of loyalty, or at least allegiance. It would have to be enough for now.

Meetra turned back to Moza and forced what she hoped was a confident smile. "Let's go."

* * *

Compared to the fight with Slusk and Luxa, the scrap with Czerka's mercenaries felt like little more than a schoolyard tussle. Even with Atton's handicap and her own injuries, they cut through each opponent, though Meetra was careful to leave as many as she could incapacitated rather than dead. The fight was long over when Grenn and several TSF officers arrived, and though it took some convincing, they agreed to arrest and remove the mercenaries. Grenn didn't mention the Exchange or comment on Atton and Meetra's injuries, and so she said nothing as well. A part of her felt guilty for the mess he would have to clean up, another part just wanted to push it away, to let it be someone else's problem. Today, she decided to let the second part win.

"Meetra Surik." She turned at Chodo's approach, read the fatigue in his off-kilter gait. He'd asked her to wait in his office while he saw to the bodies of his herdmates; that had been almost two hours ago. Meetra wanted to ask how many were lost to offer her condolences, but something in Chodo's face told her it would bring more harm than comfort right now. He passed her and went to the desk, placed a thick canvas pack on it, and turned to her. "There is no true way to thank you for what you have done. Many of us owe our lives to you and your companions." Meetra wasn't sure she had an adequate response, so she stayed silent and Chodo continued. "Our restoration effort, too, owes its survival to you. Czerka is exposed and the Exchange is no more." The skin around his eyes tightened and he lowered his head. "Forgive me, Meetra Surik. I know I have asked too much, expected more than I had any right to, and never once did you refuse me."

"We have both walked long on our paths, Chodo." His formality and reverence pulled a similar tone from Meetra, rusty with disuse. "You know as well as I old patterns hold true, no matter how deeply they are buried." Her voice became her own again, the dregs of her past falling away. "Besides, it was the right thing to do."

Chodo stared at her for a long moment and the look in his eyes set off flickers of guilt and horror in her chest, her heart tightening in on itself. How many people had looked at her this way in the early days of the Mandalorian Wars, the way they looked at Revan and Malak. Awe mingled with hope and a love of which the Jedi had never been worthy, at least not as she had known them. It made her sick, but not in the way killing Luxa had. This nausea was born from the sense she had deceived the poor man. He thought her the valiant knight of so many childhood tales; in truth, she was everything but.

To Meetra's relief, Chodo suddenly turned away to fish in the pack. "I want you to have something." He held out a small mechanical component, cylindrical in shape with an insert for a long thin object: the seating fixture for a lightsaber's power cell. Its surface was worn, but well-cared for; there was no doubt it was still in working condition.

Chodo saw the recognition in her eyes. "This belonged to a Jedi in my herd, before…" He trailed off, tact suddenly returned. "I noticed you carry no lightsaber. I assumed it was not by choice." Meetra didn't answer and he took her silence for affirmation. "Well, I hope you can find a use for it." He slid the part back into the pack before she could refuse. "Now, I have my end of the bargain to uphold, do I not?"

Meetra's throat was suddenly dry. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Chodo reached out and put a thick hand on her uninjured shoulder, eyes closed, and Meetra did the same. Chodo's consciousness brushed hers, a light and tentative contact, then his mind and spirit expanded to envelope hers.

It was different than touching Kreia's mind. Chodo held nothing back, his entire being open to her through the Force. His touch was gentle, warm; Meetra almost wanted to cry from the sheer _comfort _of it. She felt him touch the wound within her, recoil despite himself, and she saw, _felt_ it as he did. For her, the loss of her connection was just that: absence where sensation should have been. But through Chodo, she felt the true pain of her wound, a raw and seeping hurt that rippled outward through the Force. Briefly, she wondered how Kreia stood being near her.

Chodo recovered and reached out to her injury, his consciousness lingering around the metaphorical edges. The closest word Meetra could summon to describe the act was a "tugging" as he tried to pull the wound closed, to reconnect the severed tendrils into a whole unit again. It wasn't painful, per se, but there was a degree of discomfort. She grimaced, jaw clenched until her teeth ground against each other. Chodo's touch was feather-light, but determined, and he pulled the ragged edges toward one another, alternating holds as he worked.

Time passed - how long, Meetra couldn't be sure - and Chodo's consciousness retreated, the recession of warmth and discomfort leaving her both relieved and hollow. His hand on her shoulder steadied her now, her knees suddenly weak with the effort it took to stand. Meetra focused on her breathing, the deep, even in and out rush of air, and opened her eyes, finding Chodo's. They were heavy with regret. "Forgive me, Meetra Surik. I am not strong enough to heal you completely."

The disappointment was bitter on her tongue, but Meetra pushed it aside and reached out to the Force. It answered, louder than it had been in a decade, the melody swelling to a crescendo and ebbing around her. Her connection was still weak, the song not as strong, or as fluid as it had been before Malachor, but Chodo's attempt to heal it was not entirely unsuccessful. Meetra let out a shaky exhale as she released her hold and let the energy dissipate. "Don't discredit yourself, Chodo. You've done more than I thought possible."

He perked up. "Truly? Then I am honored." The thick fingers squeezed her shoulder and Meetra felt his delight through the Force. "I may not have succeeded entirely, but perhaps when you reach the planet, you may heal further still. Telos is still healing, but the Force flows strong in the restoration zones." Chodo turned back to dig through the pack again, coming up with a bundle of blue cloth. "Forgive my presumption, but I thought you would want a change of garments. Considering…" He trailed off with a pointed look.

Her cheeks warmed. "I appreciate the expense."

Chodo chuckled and lay the clothes next to the canvas bag. "It is no trouble, Meetra Surik. You will also find some supplies and credits within, a gift from the rest of my herd." He lifted a hand to stall her protests. "Please, allow them this. Without you, many of them would not be here." His tone was solemn, but he let out a pleased hum when Meetra nodded. "Now, I should take my leave, so you may dress and take care of your wounds. I have arranged a shuttle to Telos for you, which you will find on the second dock. In light of Czerka's… _intrusion, _I am afraid I cannot spare a pilot for you."

Meetra waved away the excuse. "That's alright. I already have a pilot - provided he can fly with one arm."

"Ah, your companion," Chodo said, and his tone threatened to pull a laugh from her. Hardly a surprise he had reached the end of his patience with Atton. "Moza is tending to him in the vivarium. I am not sure where the woman is. I confess I lost track of her."

The mention of Kreia curdled Meetra's amusement. "She'll turn up."

He nodded. "As you say, Meetra Surik." He stepped past her, but turned back before reaching the door. "Ah, one last thing: the shuttle has been programmed with the coordinates for a specific Restoration Zone. You will find an ally of ours there, an Iridonian Zabrak called Bao-Dur. He built our shield system and is familiar with the planet - if anyone can find your ship, it will be him."

"Thank you, Chodo." Her voice was small and quiet under the weight of his sacrifice.

Chodo inclined his head. "Thank _you_, Meetra Surik. I hope we meet again, under better circumstances." With that, he left the office, the room suddenly emptier without his presence. Meetra stared after him, a heaviness in her chest. Even with the loss of his herdmates, Chodo showed her only kindness, blamed her for none of the loss. She felt a flash of hatred, for him and for herself. If she hadn't agreed to steal from Czerka, hadn't provoked their wrath, those Ithorians would still be alive. Their deaths were her fault, and Chodo had the gall to thank her for it.

As quickly as the anger came, it cooled, replaced with nausea and a little fear. She had struggled for so long to mitigate those feelings, to bury the rage and fury that had sustained her during the wars. Meetra had needed it then, had relied on it to hold the terror and grief at bay as her friends and comrades died around her, but now she knew better and could see it for the danger it was. She pushed the anger back, sealing it away with a deep breath, and removed her torn clothes, taking care to securely wrap the wounds on her stomach and shoulder before pulling on the new ones. They were similar - a simple tunic and leggings - but cut differently, the sleeves and hem a little longer, one side dipping past her hip. The leggings were a little more fitted, but made of a softer material. Not ideal should she get into another close-quarters fight, but at least the modern look would have her stand out less.

Meetra pulled her boots back on and picked up the discarded clothes, turning them over in her hands. The sensible thing would be to leave them for Chodo or one of the other Ithorians to dispose of, but something kept her from setting them down. Torn and bloody though they were, the clothes brought out a yearning she couldn't explain, a familiarity impossible to pin down. After a moment, she separated the tunic and pants, folded both carefully, and slipped them into the pack. She retrieved her staff from a corner, slipped the pack's strap over one shoulder, and exited the office.

Outside, the main lobby was a flurry of activity, at least by Ithorian standards. Meetra dodged between members of the herd as she made her way to the vivarium, slipping through the door just in time to catch the tail-end of Moza's chiding. " - and it will not heal properly if you do not hold still."

"Look, just pump me full of medkits; it'll be fine. I don't need that," Atton groused, glaring up at the Ithorian. Moza towered over him, one hand keeping his patient pressed to the bench while he tried to wrap a long bandage around Atton's injured shoulder. A female Ithorian stood nearby, a sling held loosely in her hands. None of them noticed Meetra's entry, allowing her a moment's observation.

Atton's jacket hung over the back of the bench, freshly cleaned and patched, and a new off-white shirt lay over it. Without either to hide his shoulders, she could see the roll and ebb of the muscles beneath his skin as he squirmed under Moza's ministrations. The jacket made his frame narrower, too - though still wiry, his shoulders were broader than she'd realized, his arms more defined. Pale scars criss-crossed the skin along his shoulders and upper back, but one drew Meetra's attention: a thin flat burn mark across the blade of his right shoulder, faded with age, but still pink and raised. Only one weapon in the galaxy left a scar like that.

Suddenly eager not to be caught gawking, Meetra stepped forward, letting her staff click against the ground to announce her presence. "How's your patient, Moza?" She thought she saw Atton's free hand twitch toward the shirt, but when she stepped around the bench to stand next to the female Ithorian, both hands were resting in his lap.

"Difficult." Moza's tone was short, but he still managed a hum of greeting. "I know you have spoken with Chodo, but I would like to offer my thanks as well. If not for you - _all _of you…" He trailed off and shook his head. "There is much I would say, but Chodo has no doubt already said it and better than I. So, I will simply give my thanks again."

Meetra smiled, heart warming again. "Of course, Moza."

"Well, I'd prefer if the thanks came without manhandling next time," Atton said, flinching as Moza folded another layer of cloth over his shoulder. The movement pulled Meetra's eye along his collarbone and down his chest. More scars here, some unidentifiable, others too clear. Again, his definition surprised her. Clearly it wasn't a hobby, but Atton was no slouch - that, or a smuggler's life was better for one's physique than she assumed. Short, sparse hair dusted his forearms and chest, turning thicker and darker as it trailed down his stomach. Meetra glanced away before he could catch her looking and chided herself. Exile had greatly reduced her social interactions, but the sight of a shirtless man, or woman for that matter, wasn't unfamiliar to her, so there was no reason for her to stare.

"It is only manhandling because you will not hold still." Moza's annoyance provided a welcome distraction, and Meetra turned to his assistant and held out a hand. The woman pressed the sling into her hand without hesitation and sidled out of the room, clearly eager to be elsewhere. Moza didn't notice, so focused was he on Atton's noncompliance. "Were you not wriggling, I would have finished ten minutes ago."

Meetra put a gentle hand on Moza's arm. "I can take care of the rest."

He hesitated. "I appreciate the offer, Meetra Surik, but are you sure? He is lucky the round missed anything vital, but the wound is still a concern."

"I've had some experience." She left it deliberately vague, grateful that he didn't push the explanation. "Besides, I'm sure Chodo needs your help. It's probably less stressful, too." Atton rolled his eyes and scoffed, but she ignored him.

Moza chuckled, and she was glad to hear him laugh. "Very well, Meetra Surik. I leave him in your hands." He passed her the rest of the bandages and hobbled after his assistant.

Predictably, Atton fixed Meetra with a smirk and slouched further against the bench, his uninjured arm thrown over the back, affording her an unobstructed view. "So, is this payback for Peragus? I saw yours, now you get to see mine?"

She ignored him and moved to take Moza's place at his side, bracing her staff and pack against the bench, the sling hanging from the former. "You don't have to do that, you know."

He tipped his head back to look up at her, one eye obscured by dark hair. "Do what?"

"You _know _what." She wound the cloth around his shoulder, picking up where Moza left off. Her touch was light, but precise, fingers cool against his skin.

"But I like it." He flashed a devilish grin. "And you do, too. Otherwise, you'd have shut me up by now."

The admission surprised her, but not as much as the realization that he was right. The banter, the teasing, the pseudo-flirting - all of it reminded her of the barracks during the wars and the dormitories of her childhood. Her exile had ripped away that camaraderie and left an emptiness she'd become numb to long ago. Initially, she'd told herself she deserved it, that solitude was the price of her actions; eventually, it had become easier to just ignore what she missed. Meetra voiced none of this and continued to dress his wound, letting her silence answer for her.

It seemed to satisfy Atton. The silence extended, but it was a companionable one, made intimate by their proximity. Meetra wrapped a few more layers around his shoulder before moving to stand behind him. "Can you lean forward?" She gave his right shoulder a gentle push, purposely avoiding the thin burn scar. He complied, even lifting his arm to give her room. She looped the bandage across his back and leaned forward to pull it around his chest. The motion put them almost cheek to cheek, close enough that Meetra could feel the heat off his skin.

"Getting tired of all the 'thanks' yet?" She glanced sideways, but he stared ahead, eyes unfocused and half-lidded.

"I hate it." The words were out of her mouth before she could catch them, and she cringed at the honesty in her voice.

"You too?" He was watching her now, dark brown eyes following hers as she shifted back and forth with each loop of the bandages.

"Probably not for the same reasons," Meetra said, sad laughter tinging her words. "It makes me feel like an impostor. They think I'm something I'm not, and they don't believe me when I tell them."

Atton shrugged his good shoulder, his arm brushing the inside of hers. "So they willfully delude themselves. That's not your fault."

"In a way, though, it is." Her voice was quiet, and so close to his ear, it sent chills down his spine. "They believe that because I _was _what they want me to be, once."

He turned toward her, sought out her gaze. Her eyes were dark, almost navy beneath the warm vivarium lights. "But you're not now. That's a decision you made." To his surprise, Meetra laughed, a twisted version of her warm chuckle. Heat flickered behind her eyes, but was just as quickly extinguished.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore… if I ever did." She straightened, pulling away from him, and the sudden absence of her warmth was more disappointing than he anticipated. She deftly secured the bandages along his ribs, then her hands stilled, still resting against the cloth. After a moment's hesitation, she reached up and placed her fingers lightly on the lightsaber scar. She felt Atton go taunt beneath her; he knew she recognized the mark. "How did that happen?"

"Wasn't a Jedi," he said, a little defensive. "Pretty sure I wouldn't be here if that were the case."

"Probably not."

He shrugged, and Meetra felt the tension fade, his shoulders and back loosening. "Had a client who didn't 'appreciate' the cost of my services. After a little back-and-forth, negotiations broke down and I found out some laserbrain sold him a lightsaber on the black market." Atton chuckled, as though he weren't recounting a life-threatening event. "Just lucky the stoopa didn't know how to use the thing. Only got it turned on after I punched him in the face a couple of times." He craned his neck to look around at her, face sheepish. "Probably should have taken the lightsaber and… I don't know, did something responsible with it, but I was a little focused on running for my life."

"Does the… 'client' still have it?"

"No." He didn't elaborate.

Meetra sighed and pulled her hand away. He glanced from it back to her, and she smiled to reassure him. "Thank you."

Atton frowned. "For what?"

"For being honest with me."

His confusion slipped into disbelief and surprise before the neutral mask slammed down, and he waved off her words. "You asked, I answered. It's nothing."

"Maybe to you, but I'm still glad." Meetra picked up the shirt and came to stand in front of him. "Need a hand?"

"Depends on where you wanna put it." Atton laughed as she rolled her eyes. "Hand it here. Let me keep a little dignity." He took it from her and angled his left arm into the sleeve with as little movement as possible, then pulled the rest over his head. Straightening it into place, he pushed himself off the bench to stand in front of her. "Moza mentioned something about a shuttle, and I'm just about sick of this station, so… shall we?"

"Just a second." Meetra reached past him and retrieved the sling from her staff.

He grimaced. "Look, I said I didn't need it. I'll be careful."

"This is being careful." He glowered at her. "Do it for me?" Atton snorted, earning himself a glare. "Fine, do it, or I'm leaving you here."

He hesitated, unsure how serious the threat was, then grudgingly nodded. Meetra gently raised his forearm, careful not to jar his shoulder, and slid the sling over it, reaching up to pull the straps together behind his neck. The motion brought her close again and Atton took advantage of her distraction to scan her face, noting the smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose and the faint scar at the very edge of her jaw beneath her ear. He followed the line of her throat, the way it curved down into the dip of her collarbone beneath her hair.

Meetra leaned back, sling secure, and Atton looked away, pretending to busy himself with adjusting it. He made a show of pulling on it, partly to annoy her (the flash of irritation that lit her eyes was disturbingly alluring) and partly to distract himself. When he was satisfied, he lifted his jacket from the bench and pulled it over his good shoulder. "_Now_, can we go?"

"If you're done trying to get a rise out of me." She walked around to retrieve her staff and the canvas pack, pulling the strap across her body to better accommodate its weight. "Chodo has coordinates already set for us. We're supposed to meet a Bao-Dur - he's going to help us find the _Ebon Hawk_."

"I like him already." Atton gestured for her to lead and followed her out of the vivarium. "You seen Kreia? Or am I just _that_ lucky, and it's you and me from here?"

"She'll be at the docks." Even as Meetra said it, she felt a certainty that unnerved her. Perhaps it was her bond with Kreia, or maybe her strengthened Force connection. Either way, she knew the old woman would rejoin them at the shuttle. What she didn't know is where they went from here. She wanted to confront Kreia, but the old woman's stubbornness made the prospect less than pleasant.

"Well… to the docks then, I guess." Atton took the lead, setting a quick pace through the main lobby and out of the compound. Meetra followed, pushing the thought of confronting Kreia out of her mind. For now, she would only allow herself to focus on getting off the station and finding the _Ebon Hawk. _Anything that came after could be dealt with then. She caught up with Atton and fell into step beside him. He turned to her, made a joke, and she laughed, receiving a genuine smile in return. She clung to the warmth it brought out in her, the sheer comfort of spending time with someone who made her laugh. For now, that was enough.

* * *

AN: I guess this is what it feels like to be at the last stage of "I live, I die, I live again." To make a long story short: new job was not as advertised and not really good for my mental health, so I wasn't able to focus on this chapter. However, I was recently able to quit and start doing my old job again (which I loved) in new city! I'm in a much better place now and ready to get back on the long-fic train. If you stuck around through this unexpected and unannounced hiatus, thank you so much - it really does mean a lot to me. And if you discovered the work recently and are hoping for it to continue - good news!


	20. Reunion

Content Warning: Small (roughly one sentence) implication of past suicidal ideation.

* * *

Meetra felt the sunlight first.

It spilled over her, warm and bright behind her closed eyelids. After the sterility of Peragus and Citadel Station, the warmth was overpowering, so much so it took several seconds for the pain to register. Meetra's jaw clenched, breath hissing through her teeth. _Everything _hurt, a dull soreness that spread downward from her shoulders, concentrated in her arms and hips and one oddly specific spot near her hairline. Even her most intense training sessions at the academy had been kinder.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, compartmentalizing the aches and pains away, and pushed herself upright, lifting a hand to shade her eyes before she opened them. For a moment, there was nothing but brightness, Telos' sun blotting out the planet with its brilliance. Then Meetra's vision adjusted, and her breath hitched in her throat. Short scrub grass stretched out in front of her, racing away to the craggy hills in the distance. Small crooked trees broke through here and there, limbs outstretched at impossible angles. A sliver of ocean hovered at their edge to her left, too far away for her to smell the salt. It caught the sunlight, jewel-like, and reflected it among dancing waves. Above, white clouds scudded lazily through a pale blue sky. It was simple, primitive — the earliest step in the Ithorians' restoration — but it was beautiful compared to the chrome and ceramic of the station or the thick drifts of Belsavis.

"Quite the view, isn't it, General?"

Meetra started, hand flicking toward her waist before she caught herself. She'd been so captivated she hadn't heard his approach. The speaker held up his hands, a self-conscious grin pulling at his lips. This was, without a doubt, Bao-Dur. The standard horns of the Zabrak were prominent with him, forming a circlet around his head. A complex web of facial tattoos lined his gray skin, framing golden eyes, and when he smiled, she saw sharp canines. His right arm drew her attention from his face. Cybernetic, a long ribbon of energy connecting the "hand" to the rest of his arm - something about it unnerved her and made her sad all at the same time.

Bao-Dur followed her gaze to his hand. He let his normal arm fall and spread the mechanical fingers in an exaggerated wave. "Gets everyone the first time. You get used to it." His voice was soft and measured, and Meetra got the sense that it was his natural tenor rather than any effort on his part. As he spoke, a small spherical remote droid zipped up behind him, hovering at shoulder level. Without addressing it, Bao-Dur resumed his approach and held out a hand to help her to her feet. "Welcome to Telos, General — one of the habitable bits, anyway." The golden eyes softened, the sun lending them a warm glow. "It's good to see you again." Meetra stared at him, unsure how to continue. He scanned her face, saw the confusion, and a flash of disappointment flickered in his eyes. "You don't remember me."

"I… I'm sorry, no." Guilt came with the admission. "We've met before?"

He smiled, a touch of sadness in the lines around his eyes. "In another life. It'll come back to you. Why don't you tell me your story first?"

"The Ithorians — I mean, their leader, Chodo Habat sent us to — " Everything came back in a rush. Reuniting wordlessly with Kreia at the shuttle dock as they boarded. Entering the Telosian atmosphere, dipping beneath the shield of the Restoration Zone to sweep through the clouds. Heavy, shuddering impacts along the shuttle's keel and the sharp tang of burning circuitry. Shouting for her companions, only Atton's voice answering. A bone-shattering impact and then… nothing. Meetra's chest tightened, panic clawing its way up her throat. "Our shuttle — There were two others with me — What happened to — "

"Slow down, General." Bao-Dur squeezed her shoulder. The gesture felt surprisingly familiar and Meetra didn't shy away from it. "Take a breath." He smirked. "And maybe a look around."

She stared at him for a moment, then turned from the vista to the land behind her. The shuttle was a few yards away, a long divot in the earth leading from the crash site to where it lay with its nose buried in the dirt. Parts of the fuselage near the cargo doors and the cockpit were stained dark with soot, but Meetra didn't smell anything burning. She spotted Atton and Kreia next, near where she'd woken, the former's jacket draped over his chest. Both were unconscious and Kreia's robes were perhaps a shade darker in places, but they appeared otherwise unharmed. A small collection of their belongings, including Chodo's canvas bag and hers and Kreia's weapons, had been gathered in a pile nearby.

Meetra crossed the space quickly, Bao-Dur trailing in her wake, and knelt in between Atton and Kreia, inspecting first one and then the other. "They're alright; probably took a harder hit than you did. I was a few klicks out when I saw your shuttle come in. Thought it was some of Chodo's herd, so I got here as quickly as I could - imagine my surprise." He chuckled, the warm sound soothing some of her fears. "Got the fire down pretty easily, but most of the systems are fried. Between that and the structural damage…" He trailed off with a shrug. "Hope you didn't plan on getting out the way you came in. Do you remember what happened?"

She shook her head. "Something hit the shuttle. Must have bounced us around pretty good." More than that, if the dull ache running the length of her body was anything to go by. Meetra carefully lifted Atton's jacket and tested the straps on his sling. He moaned softly as her inspection jarred his arm, but didn't wake. "I remember the fire, some shouting, but after that…"

"Could have been a lot worse. You've got a hell of a pilot." Meetra smiled and pulled Atton's jacket back over him. Bao-Dur was right. By all accounts, they should be dead from the crash, but Atton had come through. She doubted it was the last time she would be thankful she'd released him on Peragus. Unbidden, Bao-Dur's remote let out a sharp trill. "Fine, fine. I'm Bao-Dur, by the way. My friend thinks it's a bit rude I didn't introduce myself under the circumstances."

"I know." She saw the flash of hope in his eyes and felt guilty for quashing it with her next words. "Chodo said he worked with you, that you built the shields for the Restoration Zones. Our ship was stolen from Citadel Station and brought here; he said you could help us find it."

"What kind of ship?"

Freighter, Dynamic-class. Goes by _Ebon Hawk_."

He frowned, brow creased in thought. "I can't say I've seen any freighters come through recently. Granted, I haven't really been in a position to track new arrivals for a while." He gave a sheepish smile in the face of her confusion. "Better to wait for your friends to wake up — that way I only have to explain once. But don't worry, General; if your ship's here, I'll help you find her."

"You keep calling me that." Meetra stood, eyes narrowed and arms folded over her chest. "No one's called me that since…"

"The wars, yeah."

"You served?"

"Not with the Republic." Bao-Dur chuckled and rubbed one of his horns with a thumb. "I was actually part of your regiment. Joined a few years before the end as technician, then an engineer. Thought I would have made more of an impression, honestly, being the only Zabrak."

She stared at him, rigid posture loosening. "I… I'm so sorry. Everything from then is… hazy." Except in her nightmares, when it seemed determined to return in horrific and warped detail.

Bao-Dur's gaze fell and he sighed, the fingers of his prosthetic clenching into a fist. "Don't push yourself. I've tried to put it out of my mind, too... as much as I can, anyway."

"Why?"

He risked a glance at her face, saw the genuine confusion there. "Because I…" His jaw clenched, the lines of his skin and tattoos tightening around his eyes. "General, I built the Mass Shadow Generator. Designed it to Revan's exact specifications and fired it on your order." His voice rose in volume and pitch, the soft warmth replaced with anger and desperation. "I stood on the bridge with you — you looked _right _at me, the longest you'd ever looked at me, and you _nodded_. Just once — a single nod… How can you not remember this?!"

Meetra didn't answer. She stared at Bao-Dur - no, not at him, but _through _him. For a moment, she was back on the bridge, staring out at the massive battle sprawled above Malachor V's atmosphere. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, under the weight of the memories. There had been someone with her, but she'd barely taken notice - by the end of the wars, it was easier not to care, to see those under her command as tools rather than people. The figure was fuzzy in her memories, but she remembered nodding — only once, as Bao-Dur said — and outside the ship, the world imploded. Everything after was chaos, a cacophony of sounds and images that was incomprehensible when it was fresh, much less a decade later.

The anguish drained from Bao-Dur as he watched the muted horror play across her face. He sighed and reached out to take her hand in his flesh-and-blood one. "I'm sorry, General; that was unkind of me. Neither of us knew what would happen. Revan kept everyone in the dark."

"She never told me who built it." Meetra's voice was small and soft, the words thick, like she was forcing them out from deep in her chest. Her hand stayed loose in his, but she didn't pull away. "I — I never asked. I always assumed she… I thought she told me everything, and if she didn't, it wasn't important." She blinked, pulling herself out of the dark memory, and looked back at Bao-Dur. Although her eyes were dry, they burned with regret, a spark of anger at the very center. "There's nothing I can say to change that. Even apologizing feels pathetic. I should never have let her put you in that position — _I _should never have put you in that position."

"I made the choice to join — and I don't regret that choice" His voice was warm again, but there was a firm edge to it now. "Whatever came after, I try to hold on to that. You should, too, General." He squeezed her hand and smiled when her fingers curled around his. Meetra's gaze fell and he followed it back to his cybernetic arm. "Souvenir, of sorts. It happened after the shockwave hit the ship. I remember seeing you fall, following you down, but after that… When I woke up, it was gone. The Republic doctor who did the surgery said it was crushed, probably under something that came loose in the blast. Thankfully, I was unconscious for most of it."

Meetra slipped her hand free of his and brushed the prosthesis with her fingertips. "You built it yourself."

"I have high standards." The spherical droid at his shoulder made an indignant whistle. "And I guess I had a little help." She laughed and Bao-Dur smiled, the lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling. "You know, I always wondered what that sounded like. Not a lot of fun to be had after I joined."

"Watching a planet glassed firsthand kind of killed the 'fun.'" A darkness flickered across her face, just as quickly banished. "How did you end up on Telos and fall in with the Ithorians?"

Bao-Dur was silent for a moment, eyes unfocused as he lost himself in his own memories. "When I woke up, you were gone, too. You and Revan and — " His voice caught on the third name, much like her thoughts did every time they turned to her former friend — "Malak. The wars were over, and I was alone. Without a purpose. We'd won, but the costs…" He trailed off, and the haunted look in his eyes sent a chill down Meetra's spine. She was fairly certain she wore the same expression when she thought about the Mandalorian Wars. Bao-Dur swallowed, finding his voice again. "I wanted… _needed _to do something, to make up for my mistakes. I started drifting, helping out where I could before moving on to the next city, the next planet… and then Revan and Malak returned."

"And started the Civil War."

Bao-Dur nodded. "You heard about that."

"Not at first." She didn't like thinking about the years after her exile. Truthfully, she still wasn't sure how she'd survived the first few — she hadn't exactly made an effort to stay alive. By the time she'd returned to something resembling her pre-exile self, Revan had made her second return and saved the Republic from Malak's Sith army. "I only found out recently. Did you… What was she like?"

"No idea." Bao-Dur shrugged. "I stayed as far out of their path as I could. Didn't want to be recognized; although, if your reaction is anything to go by, I probably shouldn't have bothered." He smiled to show he was teasing her. "By the time everything was done, a lot of refugees didn't have a home to go back to. Malak had a habit of bombing entire planets. He was very sporting, that way. I caught wind that the Republic had authorized a restoration effort, and Telos was going to be the flagship project. As soon as I heard, I knew this was what I'd been waiting for, so I made my way to Citadel Station and joined up with Chodo and his herd. I had a talent for shield tech and he had a dream." His smile turned sad. "Almost worked out."

"'Almost?'" Meetra waved a hand, indicating the land around them with the expansive gesture. "Looks to me like the idea was a success."

His expression darkened. "We should have had half the planet covered by now."

She raised an eyebrow at the anger in his words. "What's stop— " A soft groan cut her off, and she and Bao-Dur looked over to see Atton stirring, the whites of his eyes just visible beneath fluttering lids. A sudden panic seized Meetra, her chest tightening. She turned back to Bao-Dur, struggling to keep her alarm in check. "They — " She paused and glanced back at Kreia. The idea that she had any secrets from the old woman was laughable. "_He _doesn't know…"

Bao-Dur glanced from her to Atton and back again. "And you don't want him to."

Meetra shook her head. "Most of my friends are dead or missing. I'd prefer not to lose any more, so just 'Meetra' from now on, alright?"

He raised a brow, but nodded. "As you wish. Forgive me for saying so, Gen— Meetra, but is he really a friend if you don't trust him with who you are?"

"Who I _was_." She stressed the last word, the syllable slipping through her teeth like a curse. "And I do trust him. He's fought with me, saved my life more than once… I don't want him to leave because of what I've done."

Bao-Dur inclined his head. "I'm sorry; that was more than a little hypocritical of me. It's not as if Chodo knows what part I played in the Mandalorian Wars."

"It's alright," Meetra relented, kneeling down again. "The question isn't entirely unwarranted." She pulled Atton's jacket off of him again and put it to the side before touching his good shoulder. He came awake instantly, gaze finding hers, and for a moment, a flicker of fear and something darker passed behind his eyes. She leaned away, startled, but the shadow was gone before she could seek it out again. Atton blinked at her, as if unsure she were an illusion, then grinned. She returned the smile and held out a hand. "Welcome back."

"And I was having such a pleasant dream, too." Atton took her hand and let her pull him to a sitting position, grimacing only a little when the motion tugged his injured arm. He leaned around her to look out at the Telosian surface and his sour look intensified. "You sure we're awake? This isn't some shared nightmare?"

Meetra laughed despite herself. "It's not that bad."

Atton raised an incredulous eyebrow. "This makes Nar Shaddaa look civilized. At least you can buy drinks."

"And thanks to your fool's incompetence, we are stranded here." Meetra started and turned to find Kreia already on her feet, dusting Telosian soil from the hem of her robes. The old woman's ability to move without notice was unnerving.

Atton scowled up at her. "My 'incompetence' is why you're still alive and not a pile of ash mixed with ship slag."

Bao-Dur chuckled, breaking the silence that accompanied Kreia's withering glare. "Interesting company you keep, Meetra."

"It would be boring otherwise." She stood, pulling Atton to his feet as well, and helped him slip his jacket on. "Bao-Dur, Atton Rand and Kreia"

He nodded to first one, then the other. "A pleasure."

"Yeah, sure." Atton eyed the Zabrak warily, ignoring Meetra's frown. "Know anything about that AD tower that took us out? That was a pirate set-up; I thought the Ithorians were running a research project here."

Bao-Dur's remote jerked toward his shoulder and whistled, zipping back out of reach when he swiped half-heartedly at it. "Yes, yes, you were right." He turned back to Meetra and thumbed one of his horns again. "It's like I said earlier — I haven't been able to keep track of anything coming to Telos because of Czerka. Chodo probably told you about the obstacles he's been facing with them."

"He actually asked us to help him find evidence of it," Meetra said. "The Ithorians should have enough to bury Czerka now."

Bao-Dur raised an eyebrow. "Well… that's good to hear, but the news hasn't made it down here. To answer your question about the tower: Czerka sent a 'research' team to the surface a few weeks ago." His lips curved in a humorless smile. "Why the company needs so many mercenaries for research, I don't know. They set up shop in one of the Ithorians' abandoned compounds, cut off any outside communication, and sent a pursuit team after me when I started nosing around. Luckily, I know the terrain better than a bunch of Nar Shaddaa cast-offs."

"Yeah, well, even a half-deaf and blind bantha will have heard that." Atton jerked a thumb at the wrecked shuttle. "The longer we hang around here playing catch up, the sooner Czerka finds us."

"As much as it pains me, my opinion aligns with the fool's." Atton rolled his eyes at Meetra, but otherwise ignored Kreia's jab. "We are no closer to finding the _Ebon Hawk_, and we will be less so if we are taken captive."

"Not necessarily. We can help you find your ship." Bao-Dur waved a hand to indicate both himself and the remote. "I doubt the mercenaries thought to reset the shield network passcodes, so it's likely I still have access. If we can get into the compound, I can locate records for any ship passing through the network. That's the easy part, though."

Meetra tilted her head. "And the hard part?"

"Besides getting past Czerka's guards? It's a bit of a trek from here." He turned and pointed toward the shimmering water in the distance. "We'll have to take the long way to avoid any patrols or the pursuit team. Not to mention the wildlife."

"What 'wildlife?'" Atton shook his head. "Unless Telos had some bomb-resistant blarrg I'm not aware of, the fauna's as dead as the rest of this planet."

"Chodo thought it best to introduce a few herbivore species to keep the new growth in check," Bao-Dur explained, either ignoring or failing to notice the sarcasm in Atton's voice. Judging from the smuggler's sour look, Meetra suspected it was the former. "When their numbers started to get out of hand, the Ithorians' decided to bring in a predator — cannoks." Meetra kept her face carefully blank, but couldn't suppress the shudder that rolled down her spine. An image of the squat little monsters flashed before her — rough, craggy gray skin, thick eyestalks moving independently of each other, and a mouth full of needles. A native of Dxun, they had been the cause of more than a few injuries throughout her regiment. The cannoks' small size meant they weren't life-threatening to humanoid species, but those impossibly sharp teeth combined with their tendency to attack anything that moved had made them a formidable nuisance. "Unfortunately, after Czerka forced Chodo and his herd off Telos, they made no attempt to maintain the ecosystem the Ithorians' put in place. The result: no herbivores, and a large number of very hungry cannoks who will try to catch and eat anything — including us."

"Great. I'm so thrilled we passed up drinks on Nar Shaddaa for mercs and flesh-eating mon— " Atton cut off, posture stiffening as his gaze locked on a point behind Meetra. Before she could ask what was wrong, he drew a blaster with his good arm and fired past her in one fluid motion. Meetra flinched away and lifted a hand, the gesture unconscious, the Force surging into a concentrated point, but Bao-Dur caught her arm and gently forced it down.

"Nice shot," he commended Atton, fingers pressing lightly into Meetra's arm. "A scout drone — looks like Czerka's goons are getting smarter. I doubt it was able to transmit much, but you're right — we should get moving." He squeezed Meetra's arm once and released her. Atton holstered his blaster, face carefully neutral, but his eyes held hers, a flicker of uncertainty in their depths. Meetra broke the gaze first, hot shame crawling up the back of her neck. Losing control was embarrassing, especially with her weakened connection to the Force, and the idea of hurting Atton turned her stomach. Avoiding his eyes, she stepped past him and collected their belongings, tossing Kreia her vibrosword before slinging the canvas bag over her shoulders.

"Let's go."

* * *

Two hours into the hike Meetra was sick of both the walking and the silence. Her sore knee twinged with every other step, forcing her to use her staff as support. They trekked single file: Bao-Dur at the lead with Kreia and Meetra in the middle, and Atton bringing up the rear. She could feel his eyes on her back. She wanted to turn and explain herself, to apologize, but anxiety squared her shoulders and kept her gaze forward. After all her talk of trusting Atton, she would have tossed him back like a ragdoll had Bao-Dur not been there.

Meetra swallowed hard and pushed the thought out of her mind. Ignoring her knee's complaints, she quickened her pace until she caught up with Kreia. "How are you feeling?"

Kreia didn't spare her a glance. "Speaking again, are we?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I know it was childish; I was angry."

"That much was apparent."

"Can you blame me?" Meetra didn't try to hide the hard edge that blunted her words. "You could've helped, but you stood there. I didn't have to kill Luxa."

"And if you hadn't?" Kreia finally turned to look at her, blind eyes focused squarely on Meetra's. "If I had stepped in, allowed you to wound rather than kill her? What then?" The intensity in the old woman's voice startled Meetra, and she leaned away, a response eluding her. Kreia sneered. "As I thought. If you had spared her, she would have informed her masters of your existence. In that reality, being stranded on this primitive rock would be a blessing." She closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh. "You need to realize our position. If you hesitate to defend yourself against those seeking only your capture, what will you do when the Sith come to kill you? You are no good to any of us dead, Exile."

Meetra glanced sharply at her, then risked a look over her shoulder at Atton. He caught her eyes before she looked away, but otherwise appeared oblivious to their conversation. "Don't call me that."

"'Around him.' Don't leave things unsaid." Kreia's lips thinned in disgust. "Your insistence on keeping him with us is wearing my patience. When he inevitably betrays you, will you realize he is no better than the Zeltron? Because he will, as soon as it becomes most profitable."

"If that were true, he would have went to Slusk himself," Meetra countered. She kept her voice low, but her fingers tightened around her staff. "Turned us over to the Exchange and disappeared off the station. But he didn't, and thanks to him we didn't die in the crash."

Kreia waved a dismissive hand. "Self-preservation. Once we have the _Ebon Hawk_, we would do well to be rid of him at the first opportunity. Provided that is not already his goal."

"I'm done discussing this." More than her annoyance at Kreia's attitude, the thought of Atton leaving was strangely unsettling and she shied away from it, as though the idea were a metaphorical sun — too bright to face head on, but always visible, even when she pushed it to the back of her mind. "You didn't answer my question: how are you feeling?"

"I am as well as can be expected — and in no need of mothering." Kreia brushed past her, tone a clear indication that the conversation was over. Meetra fell back, letting the old woman get ahead of her again. As much as she'd rather not acknowledge it, Kreia had something of a point. Allowing Luxa to live was wishful thinking — the Zeltron's loyalty had been to herself alone, and informing the Exchange of their survival would have benefited her as much as presenting their dead bodies. Realistically, mercy was no longer a luxury she could afford.

"That looked _fun_." Meetra started at Atton's voice, realizing she'd slowed enough to bring him alongside her. She caught his gaze for a moment before glancing away again, and he blew out an exasperated breath. "Can we stop doing this? Look… _whatever _you were gonna do, you didn't." He shrugged. "And even if you had, I probably deserved a little bit of it."

She shook her head. "You were just trying to keep us safe."

One side of his mouth pulled up in a lop-sided grin. "Who's 'us?' You and me, or…" The smile fell as he gestured at Kreia's back. "Because I'd really rather it be the first one." He looked back to her, the sun bringing out the hazel flecks in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I should be asking you that."

Atton shrugged his good shoulder. "Could be worse. What's a few more bruises?" He leaned toward her, brow furrowed, his eyes not on hers but on her forehead. "You sure you're alright? That looks nasty." Before Meetra could question him, he reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. His skin was warm on hers, his touch light as he ran his fingertips along the curve of her hairline. She winced, the gentle probing eliciting a dull throb, but forced herself not to flinch back. "Sorry. From the impression, definitely looks like the console."

"What?!" Meetra pulled away and rubbed at the bruise. Her fingers found only smooth, albeit aching, skin, and when she looked back, Atton was almost doubled over with the struggle to hold in his laughter. "You're terrible."

"And you're a treat." He grinned, one of the rare, genuine, impossible to refuse ones. She returned it, some of the stress and frustration lifting, and lightly punched his arm. "But seriously, we should get that looked at when we get the _Hawk _back. Speaking of which…" Atton inclined his head toward Bao-Dur. "You sure we can trust him? Takes a lot of luck to avoid a pursuit squad for this long — or skill."

"You think he's lying."

"I think he could be. He said himself he hasn't been in contact with Chodo for weeks. Plenty of time to make a deal."

Meetra shook her head. "No, he wouldn't. He's telling us the truth."

He raised an eyebrow. "Awfully confident."

"I'm a good judge of character."

Atton snorted, earning himself another punch. "I'm impressed you can say that without irony." His mirth faded, the lines of his face becoming serious again. "But… I'll follow your lead. I'm not gonna like it, though."

"So you trust my judgement?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Jedi wisdom and all that." Atton smiled again to show that he was teasing, but it faded when he saw the reservation on her face. "I, uh, I just mean you've gotten us this far — no reason to start doubting you now."

Meetra made a soft sound, and Atton glanced sharply at her. She was staring not at him but beyond, and he followed her gaze. They had come to the rise of a small hill and beneath them, just to the left, stretched a slim expanse of ocean. The water sparkled in the dwindling afternoon light, a deep and opaque blue that suggested secrets in its depths. The curve of the shield wall rose behind it, separating and masking the living section from the barren wasteland beyond - inside the Restoration Zones, it was easy to forget that the rest of Telos was a blackened husk.

As bewitched as Meetra was by the sight, Atton was more so by her captivation. Her blue-gray eyes were lit from within, and the awe written in the lines of her face tugged at something in his chest. It was surely his imagination, but she almost seemed to glow, as if there was a pale light suffused beneath her skin. In the moment, she was otherworldly, and breaking the silence was almost a relief. "First time?"

She let out a small laugh and ran a hand through her hair, the motion rendering her human once more. "No, it's… it's just been a very long time, and… it's beautiful."

His eyes didn't leave her. "Yeah."

"It is water." Kreia's voice shattered the fragile moment, and Atton inwardly seethed as the light left Meetra's eyes. She nodded once and started forward again, passing Kreia without a word. The old woman's eyes lingered on Atton for a moment, then she turned to follow. He glared at her retreating back, but fell into step behind her.

Bao-Dur waited at the bottom of the hill, and he raised a hand before any of them could speak. "Slight problem," he said, voice soft and low. "Czerka's moving faster than I expected." He pointed ahead and to the right, and Meetra caught sight of four lightly armored figures moving about a clearing near the base of the ridge. There was a caginess to their posture, a stiffness to their steps that she recognized from her time on Dxun. "There's normally six of them; I guess we can thank the cannoks for something."

One of the mercenaries shouted something, too far away to make out the words, and Meetra flinched, knuckles whitening on her staff. Another man answered, followed by a chorus of laughter. "They haven't seen us."

"Not yet. Looks like they plan on making camp out there, though." Bao-Dur motioned to his remote, and the little droid zipped off toward the mercenaries, slipping down beneath the scrubby grass to hide itself. After a few minutes passed, it returned to chirp a few short notes, and then shot off toward the ocean. This time, it took the droid a bit longer to come back, its warbling more insistent than before. "You want the good news first, or the bad?"

"Can we just get both?" Atton grumbled, still sour from Kreia's interruption.

Bao-Dur raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "The research station is on the other side of this valley." He pointed to the hills past the far end of the ocean. "Just past the ridge, but to get there…"

Meetra glanced back at the distant patrol. "We have to get past them."

"Right. My friend says we have a few options, but none without risk. With the sun going down, there's enough space between them and the ridge for us to slip by unnoticed. Puts us uncomfortably close, though." He waved a hand toward the small strip of sand separating the ocean from the scrub grass. "We could use the rocks along the beach as cover, but the low light and the surf might be a dangerous combination. Third option: we go straight through. There's four of them and four of us."

"Three of whom were just in a shuttle crash." Atton's snark earned him a glare, but Meetra's heart wasn't completely in it. However poorly delivered the point was, he had one. A scout droid was one thing, but four armed and able-bodied mercenaries were another when two of their group had only one working arm each. Atton met her eyes, the fading light making his seem darker. "Your call. Even if I don't like it."

The intensity and sincerity in his voice sent a chill, born of anxiety and guilt, down her spine. The last time anyone had put their life in her hands was during the Mandalorian Wars, and that spoke for itself. She looked away, lip caught between her teeth, and turned to Bao-Dur. "The beach. It's still too bright to try the ridge, and we can't take them head on — not like this."

Bao-Dur nodded. "If you're sure." Meetra's unspoken title hung between them, heavy with implication. "Stay low." Bao-Dur set out first, Kreia close on his heels, and Meetra and Atton followed behind. The effort of moving while half-crouched aggravated her knee further, but she pushed the ache aside and focused on following the swirling hem of the old woman's robes. They had almost reached the beach when another yell echoed out from the pursuit team. Meetra tensed, heard Atton curse softly, but another mercenary replied, tone angry but even, marking the disturbance as camp-related. By the time the mercenaries settled down, the four were safely behind the largest of the boulders.

On the hill, the salt scent off the ocean was refreshing, perhaps even invigorating. Here, so close to the crashing waves, it was thick and enveloping, overpowering everything else. Meetra's stomach roiled every time she took a breath and her tongue felt coated with brine. She heard Atton gag and spit behind her and resisted the urge to follow suit. It was colder here, too, between the water and the setting sun, and the breeze cut through her tunic like a knife's edge. The sand shifted beneath her boots, every treacherous step a chance for a fall or a twisted ankle.

Halfway across, Bao-Dur abruptly froze and hissed, "Wait!" One of the mercenaries was shouting again, and Meetra made out the words "see something" and "ocean." She flattened herself against the rocks in front of them, salt flaking off where her clothes brushed against their surface. A sharp wind cut across the beach, and she shuddered and curled back toward Atton for warmth, her back nearly pressing against his chest. He didn't mention it, for which she was grateful. After several long moments, Bao-Dur moved forward again, setting a pace that saw them quickly reach the far side of the beach. They climbed the ridge, and Meetra felt her stomach drop.

Beneath them, the research station was lit from all sides by several large floodlights and crawling with mercenaries. From a rough headcount, Meetra estimated nearly fifteen men and women, some armed with blaster rifles and others with force pikes. There was a general air of boredom throughout, but all looked more than capable of taking on the four of them at peak condition, much less three-fourths injured. A large circular landing pad dominated the clearing, with several durasteel buildings arranged in an informal wall around it. A path lead underground, likely concealing the more technical aspects of the base.

Bao-Dur touched her shoulder. "See that terminal on the landing pad? We get to that, and I can find your ship."

"You neglected to mention it was in the exact middle of the compound," Atton snapped. He crouched next to Meetra, close enough for his shoulder to brush hers. "We're not sneaking through here."

"No, but they're spread out." Meetra scanned the station, watching each mercenary's movements. None of them strayed far from their post; some weren't moving at all, too caught up in talking with each other or leaning idly against the durasteel structures. The entrance, a gap between two buildings, was unguarded, and the nearest mercs had their backs turned. A plan took shape, and she was startled by how much she'd missed this part of a battle. She'd always known Revan and Malak had persuaded her to join them out of more than friendship; neither of them had her gift for strategy. "If we split up, we can take most of them out before they realize what's happening."

Atton gave her a sideways look. "There's almost four of them for every one of us."

"They're bored, complacent. The patrol hasn't found our shuttle yet; for all they know, Bao-Dur's the only person on the planet." She pointed to the gap. "They're not expecting an attack. We have surprise and, once we get started, confusion to work with." Meetra squeezed his arm, willing him to believe her. "This can work, Atton. We just have to be fast."

He glanced back down at the compound, jaw clenched. "Just don't let this be the time I regret following your lead, alright?" He gave her a tight smile before standing, his arm slipping out from beneath her hand. Meetra rose to her feet as well, her staff clutched like a lifeline. "What's the plan?"

She gestured at the entrance again. "Kreia and I are more suited for close-quarters fighting. We go through, and each of us takes a side. I need you to stay up here and provide cover fire."

"Stay out harm's way?" He smirked. "I can do that."

"Good, because I'm not bandaging any more wounds."

"Don't jinx it."

Bao-Dur caught her arm. "And me?"

Atton finished one of his blasters from its holster and held it out. "How good are you with one of these?"

"I've had some practice." Bao-Dur took the weapon and sighted down it. "I'll take the other side. Be careful, Meetra."

"You, too. Both of you." Meetra took a deep breath, gripping her staff in both hands. "Does this work for you, Kreia?"

"I am not concerned with _my_ part in this." She let the implication hang between them. "Whenever you are ready." Meetra nodded and led the way down toward the entrance, stepping carefully to keep her footfalls as soft as possible. Kreia mirrored her, vibrosword held loose, but ready at her side. Her consciousness brushed Meetra's, soft but insistent. _Remember my words, Exile._

_I know_. Meetra severed the connection without glancing at Kreia. She didn't need the old woman in her head, reminding her that every mercenary she left alive would be one more enemy that might return to plague her. Meetra took a deep breath and opened herself to the Force as she slipped through the gap, letting it surge through her senses. The first guard came into sharp focus before her, as did Atton's presence on the ridge. She judged the trajectory, hoped the universe would forgive her, and Force pushed the man into Atton's sights.

* * *

After that, it was relatively easy to finish off the rest of the mercenaries. Meetra had judged them correctly: Atton's first shot sowed enough confusion and fear that she and Kreia took down four more guards before they realized what was happening. By the time Bao-Dur's blaster joined in, the mercenaries were all dead. They just didn't realize it for a few more minutes.

Meetra waited on the landing pad with Atton while Bao-Dur went to work on the terminal. Kreia had drifted away into the lengthening shadows, motivation unknown. Meetra could still sense her through their bond, but she had no urge to seek the old woman out for fear of tripping over one of the bodies concealed by the darkness. The iron-and-salt scent of blood hung thick in the air, and she found herself wishing they were back on the beach with the salt coating the inside of her mouth.

"Good news — it looks like Czerka is as predictable as I expected." Bao-Dur's voice was a welcome distraction, and Meetra drifted closer to him, Atton trailing after her. "My passcodes are still active… but I'm not seeing any traffic at any of the registered landing sites."

"So, what does that mean?" Atton asked. "They landed the _Hawk _outside the Restoration Zones?"

"Not unless they had a death wish. Telos' atmosphere outside the shield walls is highly acidic; even a shielded ship wouldn't last long out there. If their goal was to destroy the _Ebon Hawk_, it would have been easier to blow it up in the station's hanger." Bao-Dur scrolled through the logs, eyes narrowed as he scanned each line of data. "Hold on… see this?" He gestured to a small peak in the one of the graphs on the screen. "That shouldn't be there."

Meetra squinted at the line. "Something's drawing power... " She glanced back up at Bao-Dur, eyes wide. "There's another landing site."

"One we didn't set up. Whoever hijacked the shield network is clever; they designed this to look like an anomaly or a glitch in the power grid." His hands danced across the keyboard and brought up several new screens. "Looks like it's in the polar region, but… orbital drones aren't picking anything up. There's definitely an unsanctioned shield there, but it's just a snowy plateau."

"It's underground." They both glanced back at Atton, who shrugged and pointed at the nearby entrance leading beneath the planet's surface. "Like the rest of this facility. Might've even been there before Malak bombed the planet, and they hijacked the network after you put it in place."

"It's possible." Bao-Dur turned back to the terminal, idly rubbing one of his horns as he flicked through the information. "Means we're probably dealing with a group, though. We won't know until we get there and find a way in."

Atton made a face. "The Ithorians have heavy-duty environment suits in this place?"

"No, but they do have a ship." The Zabrak allowed himself a small smug smile. "Records show a small shuttle, not unlike the one you came in on, in the underground hangar. Not quite an environmental suit, but I think it'll do." Atton rolled his eyes and stalked off to the other side of the landing pad. Meetra tried to catch his empty jacket sleeve, but it slipped through her fingers. She moved to follow him, but Bao-Dur gently pulled her back. "My fault, General, but you should probably let him go."

"He just wants to get the ship back; we all do."

"And after that?" He inclined his head at Atton's back. "I stand by what I said — he's a hell of a pilot — but the man identified a pirate AD tower and knew that whatever our unsanctioned shield is protecting was underground." Bao-Dur raised his hands as her expression darkened. "I know you trust him, but I just met the guy."

"We all have a past." There was a stiffness in her voice that made even Meetra cringe, and she took a breath to center herself. "It doesn't matter who we were before."

"My concern is that his past is still his present." He glanced away, tapping his knuckles on his cybernetic hand, and she realized it was the first time she'd seen him genuinely anxious. "How much of his past do you know? How much does he know of yours?" Bao-Dur shook his head and reached up to thumb a horn again. "I'm not trying to question your judgement — I just want you to consider all the possibilities."

"I know, but I'd rather not invite some of those possibilities." In particular, the idea that Atton only wanted to get back to the _Ebon Hawk _to get as far away from her as possible. "I'll keep the warning in mind, though. A little practicality never hurts. Thank you, Bao-Dur."

"Of course. Now, let's go get that shuttle." He patted her shoulder as he passed, his remote buzzing softly as it swooped after him. Meetra turned and joined Atton at the edge of the landing pad, tilting her head up to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He nodded wordlessly and they moved to follow Bao-Dur. Unsurprisingly, Kreia was waiting for them at the facility's entrance, expression as dour as ever, and she fell in line behind Meetra as the group passed through.

Once inside, it was like they'd never left Peragus. Their footsteps echoed back from the steel and ceramic walls, a hollow sound that amplified the dread in Meetra's stomach. She let the Force in again, let it expand her senses out from her. She felt her companions presence, each unique from the others'. Kreia's was cool and still, like the surface of a lake on a calm day and just as reflective, concealing everything she didn't want you to see. Bao-Dur felt soft, familiar; a thick blanket on a chilly winter morning. Atton's was by far the most arresting: warm and hot by turns, with a sharpness underneath that she couldn't stop coming back to, like a child tonguing the cavity left behind by a lost tooth. He caught her eye and, for a moment, Meetra was sure he'd sensed her, and she shied away, searching out enemy consciousnesses within the facility. To her surprise, she found none.

"Place feels abandoned." Atton kept his voice low, but the echo bounced back and down the hallway in front of them. "Figured they'd leave one or two mercs down here, you know, in case."

Bao-Dur shrugged. "I doubt Czerka had much use for a research facility."

"Yeah, sure… or it's a trap."

"I think Bao-Dur's right," Meetra interjected, eager to head off an argument. Atton gave her a side-long glance, but she averted her gaze before he had a chance to voice the unspoken question in his eyes. "Let's just get to the hangar. We don't know how long we have until the pursuit team heads back here."

Bao-Dur led the way down the twisting corridor, Atton's spare blaster still held loosely out in front of him, but, true to his assumptions, they arrived at the facility's hangar without issue, where the shuttle sat waiting. "I'll have to remember to thank Chodo when I get back to Citadel Station." He gestured toward a small cubicle at the back of the hangar. "The controls for the hangar door should be in there. Mind prepping the ship?" Without waiting for an answer, he jogged off to the cubicle.

Atton started to grumble under his breath, but Meetra gave him a push toward the shuttle before he could really get into it. She and Kreia followed him onto the ship, and she strapped herself into the co-pilot's seat while he engaged the shuttle's navigation and engines. Outside the viewscreen, the hangar doors began to slide apart with rusty whine, the sound of Bao-Dur's boots on the boarding ramp following shortly after. "Ready when you are." With a few nimble flicks of his wrist, Atton retracted the ramp and guided the shuttle out of the hangar, banking sharply to rise above the ridge line. The steep incline drove Meetra back into her seat, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pressure. After several long moments, she felt it ease as Atton dialed back the thrusters and she opened her eyes to find the star-shot velvet of space filling the viewscreen.

"I transmitted the landing site's coordinates to the shuttle," Bao-Dur called from his seat in the shuttle's hold. "Should only take a few minutes to get there."

Atton fiddled with the nav settings, but hesitated before selecting the provided location and glanced over at Meetra. "This still feels like a trap."

Truthfully, she agreed with him. While she doubted Czerka was behind it and she knew Bao-Dur wasn't either, there was something about the whole situation that made her uneasy, but what other option did they have? "This is our only lead." She reached out and laid a hand over his. "Last time I'll ask you to follow me, I promise, and after we get the _Ebon Hawk_, I'll buy the first round on Nar Shaddaa."

He smiled despite himself, sweet and disarming, and she felt her chest tighten, keenly aware she was making herself responsible for anything that happened to him. "I'll hold you to that. Hang on." He redirected the shuttle to follow Bao-Dur's coordinates and Meetra slid back into the co-pilot's chair, hands clasped in her lap and eyes averted from the blackened planet visible through viewscreen.

True to Bao-Dur's word, it was only a quick flight before they reached the polar region, the shielded zone standing out against the dead land around it. Atton eased off the thrusters and banked toward the spot of white, the shuttle slipping smoothly through the atmosphere and the shield wall. The mesa stretched out beneath them, bordered on each side by four tall stone pillars. As Atton circled the plateau for a landing, something caught the fading sun down on the mesa, a sparkle of light off a reflective surface. Meetra leaned forward, eyes narrowed against the white of the snow. "Did you see —"

Something slammed into the shuttle's hull along the starboard side, sending the ship careening sideways. Meetra cried out as the momentum threw her hard against her restraints, the straps digging into her neck and stomach, while Atton frantically struggled with the controls. "You've got to be _karking_ _druking _me!" Another impact struck the shuttle's stern, one of the engines exploding, and they lost altitude, the port side of the ship raking against one of the pillars as it hurtled toward the mesa. Kreia and Bao-Dur were both shouting, the words lost in the cacophony, and Atton snarled in frustration as he fought to bring the shuttle's nose level again before it reached the plateau.

The shuttle's keel slammed into the rocks, the impact bouncing them hard enough that Meeta's head struck the ceiling in spite of her restraints. She slumped back in her seat, dazed, as the ship skidded along the mesa, the stern scraping along until part of it ripped away as the rest slid to a stop. Meetra fumbled with her restraints, her movements sluggish. Her ears rang and a sticky warmth coated her neck from her right ear to her shoulder.

Atton was suddenly in front of her, a dark bruise already developing on the side of his face. He was saying something, but she couldn't seem to make sense of it — she heard the words, but they sounded off, as if they were in the wrong order. Atton noticed her confusion, and then his eyes fell to her shoulder, face paling. He caught her chin and gently turned her head to the side for a better look, then brought her back to face him. He called her name, but his voice sounded far away, like she was underwater. Frustrated with her inability to respond, he freed her straps and pulled her upright, slinging one of her arms over his neck. His uninjured arm slid around her waist and pulled her tight against his side, forcing her to move with him. This close, Meetra could feel the flex and roll of the muscles in his arm and shoulder and the heat of his skin, could smell the leather of his jacket and a warmer, cedary scent underneath. She struggled to keep up as he pulled her toward the crack in the shuttle's hull, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

He guided them through the split in the fuselage, and Meetra nearly stumbled out of his arm as her boots sank into the snow. Icy wind lanced through the thin fabric of her tunic, the shock cutting through her daze and bringing sound and color back to the world. Smoke curled around them, as thick as the snow at their feet; it invaded her lungs and shortened her breath. Hacking coughs shuddered through her and sent her to her knees, Atton collapsing with her. Meetra struggled free of his hold and grabbed his hand in hers, blindly seeking the clear air beyond the smoke. When she was able to see and breathe again, she released him and climbed to her feet, horror settling in her stomach.

One of the engines still burned, the fire bright against the pure snow, the smoke staining the powder near the wreckage. The tear in the shuttle's hull gaped like a wound, its insides spilled out across the plateau. Of her other companions, Meetra saw no sign, and panic flooded her. "Bao-Dur! Kreia!" She reached out through their bond, seeking the old woman's thoughts. _Kreia!_

_I am here. _Kreia's consciousness ghosted across hers, calm and even in spite of everything. She emerged from the smoke, the edges of her robes almost indiscernible from the dark tendrils around her. There was a darker form in the snow at her feet, and the blood drained from Meetra's face as she realized it was Bao-Dur's body. She stumbled across the snow and fell to her knees next to him, chilled fingers searching for a pulse against his throat. There was a deep gaze across the side of his face, his skin and the snow beneath stained with blood so dark it looked black against the powder. Kreia put a calming hand on her shoulder. "He still lives." Her gaze hardened as she lifted it to Atton. "Despite your fool's best efforts."

"How is this my fault?" Atton snarled, limping over to stand on Meetra's other side.

"Twice is hardly coincidence."

His expression went as cold as the snow around them. "Believe me, Kreia, if there's a third time, I won't try to save al—"

"Egotistical Praise: I am most impressed. Not only were your shots without error, but the Jedi still lives."

"Enthusiastic Agreement: I could not have done better."

Meetra stiffened, her heart pounding. Above her, she heard Atton let out a breathy curse. "Oh, come on." She slowly turned, breath catching in her throat at the sight of three silver HK-50s approaching — two bearing large blaster rifles, the third armed with a rocket launcher.

The droid in the center lifted a hand in greeting. "Immense Relief: Thank goodness you are intact, Jedi. There was a substantial chance the impact would leave you deceased."

To his left, his fellow tipped his head to the side. "Pedantic Observation: Your survival is not a requirement. We would simply prefer not to transport a corpse."

"Earnest Placation: We regret our orders demanded such violence." The third HK-50, the rocket launcher-toting one, opened his arms in a disturbingly warm gesture. "However, we hope you will now be amenable to conversation, should you wish your remaining companions to continue living."

Meetra's face darkened and she slowly rose to her feet, throwing her connection to the Force open as wide as it would go. It flowed through her, not the roaring torrent it had once been, but it was swift to answer and the strongest it had been since returning. The discordant notes swirled in her ears, almost drowning out her own voice. "How did you find us?"

"Requested Explanation: We have been tracking the _Ebon Hawk _since Peragus using the information transmitted by the unit stationed on the _Harbinger_." The center droid's voice took on an almost imperceptible cattiness. "Before you destroyed him. After the ship arrived here, we were deployed to intercept you. Though unable to locate our target, we predicted you must emerge to leave the planet, at which point we would be waiting."

"Reluctant Admission: Obviously, we assumed you were aboard the _Ebon Hawk_," interjected the HK-50 on the far left. "But we are grateful you have made our search much easier."

"Pointed Inquiry: Indeed, though we are curious what you expect to find here." The rocket-toting droid took a step forward, his voice turning menacing. "Our sensors have detected nothing, yet you arrived here with a purpose. Rhetorical Request: We would like you to enlighten us." When she continued to glare silently at them, he took another step toward her, the rocket launcher prominent in his hands. "Earnest Threat: If you are unwilling to provide the requested information, I am confident your companions will illuminate your motives when they are placed in our torture restraints."

Meetra's hand snapped out, the concentrated Force surging forward to obey her command, and the HK-50 flew backward, disappearing over the lip of the mesa behind him. A wave of exhaustion rolled over her, but she forced herself to stay standing. The remaining droids' heads swiveled to follow their comrade's trajectory, then slowly turned back to Meetra, and the left-hand one hefted his rifle. "Resigned Conclusion: Very well, Meetra Surik. Our masters have permitted us to use force if necessary. They will still be satisfied with your demise."

She didn't give them the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, she flung her arms out in a sweeping gesture, directing the Force not at the droids, but at the snow in front of her. A wall of powder surged up between her and the HK50s, obscuring their sensors, and the three scattered, Kreia circling to the left while Meetra and Atton leapt in the opposite direction. As the snow fell, the droids scrambled to locate their quarry, and Atton took advantage of their disorientation to hip fire at the nearest of the two. The bolt caught him dead in one of his optical sensors and he dropped to the snow, a puppet with severed strings. The shot drew the other droid's attention, but as he raised his rifle, blue lightning cracked through the air and struck him in the center of his chassis. His joints locked up and he shrieked, a high-pitched electronic keening that rose on the icy wind. After a moment, he fell forward across his fellow with a heavy clank.

For a moment, the three stared at each other in silence, the only sounds Meetra's labored breathing and the soft crackle of sparks lingering between Kreia's fingers. Atton slipped around Meetra and slowly advanced on the still forms of the HK-50s, his blaster held ready, and knelt next to them, rifling among their metal carapaces until he pulled a component free, tucking it in his jacket pocket. He stood, holstered his pistol, and turned back to Meetra. "Now what?"

Meetra gestured vaguely downward. "We have to find a way… in." She limped back to the crashed shuttle and knelt next to Bao-Dur again. His breathing was shallow but steady and his pulse was still strong, but there was a worrying blue tinge to the gray skin around his mouth and nose. "And we have to find it soon."

Atton glanced around at the snowy expanse stretching out around them, and Meetra saw despair and regret cross his face before he schooled it into a neutral mask again. "I'll take a look around." He moved off toward the other end of the plateau, hand resting on the butt of his blaster.

Kreia crouched opposite Meetra on Bao-Dur's other side. "If anything can be salvaged from the shuttle, it would be wise to collect it. Go — I will stay with him." Meetra hesitated, though she couldn't say why, but she stood when Kreia raised an eyebrow and ducked back through the smoke into the shuttle. Threading her way back to the cockpit, she scooped up Chodo's canvas bag, somehow unharmed, from where it had lodged under her seat. Her staff hadn't fared as well; it had wedged beneath the console and her chair and was now bent almost in half. She left it where it was and returned the way she came, pausing to pick up Kreia's vibrosword from where it had fallen at the back of the shuttle. At least two of them could be armed.

Meetra emerged from the ship and handed the weapon off to Kreia. She glanced up as Atton called her name, jogging back across the snow toward them. He came to a stop and slumped forward, hand on his knee, as he caught his breath. "Found a way in." He gestured back the way he'd come. "There's a… well, it's not exactly hidden, but there's a hatch on the other side of that outcrop." Meetra followed his outstretched hand and saw a small collection of rocks jutting up from the plateau near the far edge. The tallest had maybe an inch or two on Atton — plenty tall enough to contain an entrance and a way down into the mesa.

"Can you help me with him?" Atton nodded, and Kreia stood and moved back, allowing him to take her place at Bao-Dur's side. Meetra slid an arm beneath the Zabrak's shoulders, lifting his upper body and allowing Atton to shift his arm around Bao-Dur's waist. Holding his upper body in place with her other hand, Meetra wound her arm over Atton's and gripped Bao-Dur's waistband on the other side, then arranged his arms around hers and Atton's shoulders. Counting down from three, the two stood simultaneously, hauling the unconscious Zabrak between them. "Lead the way." Slowly, they struggled across the plateau, Kreia bringing up the rear, until they reached the outcrop. Circling around it, Meetra saw Atton was correct: a large durasteel door was inset in a large semi-circular stone, half hidden by the snow-covered rocks around it. "What's inside?"

Atton shook his head. "Didn't open it. You needed to know first." She glanced sideways at him, a warmth pervading her despite the cold. The gesture was a small one, but it spoke volumes toward his trust in her. Guilt started to creep in at the thought, but she shoved it back and reached for the control panel on the side of the door.

"A word of caution," Kreia murmured from behind her. "We will be walking willingly into the unknown."

Meetra glanced back at her over hers and Bao-Dur's shoulders. "What choice do we have?" Kreia inclined her head, a surprising acknowledgement that her actions were correct, and Meetra reached for the panel again. Before her fingers made contact, the door slid open, and two women rushed out, force pikes in hand and raised to Meetra and Atton's necks. The women were startlingly identical, from their short snow white hair and pale eyes to the menacing way they fixed Meetra with their icy stares. The one nearest Atton spoke, her voice as sharp and cold as the point of the force pike beneath Meetra's chin.

"Lay down your weapons and come with us."

* * *

A/N: In the interest of trying to build a buffer and implementing a more consistent upload schedule, I'll be going on hiatus for the next month - not that that's terribly different from any other month ('-_-) - and working on that for NaNoWriMo! If you want to check my word count (to keep me honest if I'm falling behind), you can find me under the same username over on the NaNo site.

A couple of changes made here, including removing Bao-Dur's force field-destroying ability and the tank droid fight because both feel a little "video game-y" to me (and I honestly do not remember using Bao-Dur to break force fields anywhere else in the game). I hope the chapter still reads alright without them, but I welcome any feedback!


	21. For Auld Lang Syne

Atton tried to lean away from his assailant's force pike, but she tilted the point up into the soft flesh beneath his chin. Her twin shifted her pale gaze to Kreia. "Let go of the weapon. I will not say it again."

"Who are you?" The pike at Meetra's throat pressed harder into her skin, a silent but clear warning, which she ignored. "Are you with the Exchange? Did you take our shi-"

"Do as I say, and your questions will be answered." The woman's voice was calm and measured, but she couldn't hide the undercurrent of annoyance in her words. "It is not our wish to harm you." She left the implication unspoken.

There was a soft clatter behind her and Meetra half-turned her head before the increasing pressure on her neck stopped her. The woman holding Atton hostage lowered her pike from his throat and stepped around him, returning a few moments later with Kreia's vibrosword in one hand. She passed it off to her doppelgänger and reached for Atton's blaster, the force pike held against his chest. He glanced sideways at Meetra, a question in his eyes, but her answer was a minute headshake. The woman tugged the pistol free of its holster, thumbed the safety, and slid it into the sash of her white tunic, then reached between Atton and Bao-Dur to pull the matching blaster from the Zabrak's waistband.

Satisfied, the more vocal of the two lowered her force pike from Meetra's neck, though she kept it held ready. "Follow me." She turned and stepped back through the hatch without a backward glance. Her twin stepped to the side, but did not follow. After a moment, Meetra nodded to Atton and the two moved forward, Bao-Dur's weight hanging between them.

Once inside, the sudden surge of warmth raised and then banished goosebumps along Meetra's arms and legs, an involuntary chill making its way down her back. The hatch gave way to a spacious foyer, curved walls leading to a domed ceiling held up with a single tall pillar in the middle of the space. To either side of the path directly in front of the entryway the floor fell away, revealing a sickeningly long drop into darkness. Their guide waited at the base of the pillar, flanked by three more women dressed in white with snowy hair and pale eyes, all armed with force pikes. The last of the women followed Kreia in and closed the hatch before joining her replicas. The most central of the women spoke, and Meetra was no longer sure if she was the one who had led them in. "My sisters will attend to your companions. You — " She pointed a slender finger at Meetra " — will follow me."

Meetra's grip tightened on Bao-Dur's arm. "We're staying together."

"That is not possible."

"The hell it isn't," Atton growled, and Meetra felt a rush of gratitude. Behind them, Kreia remained silent, her blind eyes watching the performance unfold.

The woman never glanced at Atton, but her lips thinned. "Our mistress has requested your presence alone." In the face of Meetra's continued defiant glare, she sighed, her posture loosening a little. "Your companions will not be harmed, as long as you cooperate. You have my word — and my mistress' honor."

"And that means so much from the person who ordered our kidnapping." When she refused to react, Atton turned to Meetra, but she didn't meet his gaze. Her eyes flicked from one woman to the next, and he could almost see the wheels turning as she considered every scenario. From the way her jaw tightened, none of the outcomes were favorable. Not entirely surprising, considering the state they were in.

"We should play along." Kreia's voice was soft, and if not for Atton's sharp look, Meetra was almost sure the old woman spoke only in her head. "For now. I sense no ill intent, and there may be a chance for us to learn why the Force drew us here." Meetra felt blind eyes on her back, the unseen gaze hot and intense between her shoulders. "Taking advantage of their knowledge is worth the risk of separation."

Atton glanced back at Meetra, watching closely as she weighed their options. Her gaze was unfocused, distant, one corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth. Under more pleasant circumstances, he would have found it charming, alluring even. After a long moment, she looked up, meeting the center sister's eyes. "We didn't come here to start a fight. I'll go with you, but my friends are hurt. I want you to guarantee they'll be taken care of, as well as kept safe."

The woman nodded. "You have my word. My sisters will tend to them, and I will make their safety my personal responsibility."

"Good." Meetra's tone was light, but something dark and violent lurked between the words. "If anything happens to them, I'll expect answers." She turned to Atton, and he braced himself for any lingering anger in her eyes, but there was only an entreaty as she tilted her head toward Bao-Dur. "Take care of him." He nodded, but she held his gaze. "I won't be long, I promise."

"I'll be waiting." The words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back, but if she heard the inappropriate earnesty in his voice, she didn't comment on it. Two of the women came forward, and Meetra slid out from beneath Bao-Dur's arm, allowing one to take her place. Atton did the same and retreated to Kreia's side. The center sister gestured with her pike, both indicating a long hall leading further into the structure and that Meetra should go first. Glancing back at Atton and Kreia, she managed a weak smile and hoped it was somewhere in the vicinity of reassuring, then did as ordered, the sister falling into step behind her.

As they walked, Meetra glanced up at the high walls, her eyes tracing the way they bowed outward before curving back in to meet the ceiling. There was something familiar about it, about the way the architecture caused their footsteps to echo back on themselves until the hall was filled with the sound. The thin path stretched out across the chasm, the drop devouring their footfalls as easily as it would one of them if they got too close. The structure was clearly designed to both impress and intimidate, and as the hall opened up, Meetra realized why she'd been struck with such familiarity.

The path ended in another wide room, this one connected to the far wall by a thin, sloping catwalk. Six high-backed white chairs were spread out evenly in a semi-circle around her side of the room, all turned to face the center, and thick glass windows curved along the walls. It was all very reminiscent of the Council's chambers in the Jedi Temple, albeit on a less grand scale, but somewhat reversed in terms of power: the chairs were clearly meant for recipients of speaker standing in their midst.

"Wait." Her chaperone's command stopped Meetra short at the threshold. The woman came abreast and pointed at the bag on her shoulder. Meetra hesitated, then handed it over. The sister pulled it over her arm and took a step back, gesturing to the center of the room with her pike. "Our mistress will be with you shortly." She raised a hand as Meetra opened her mouth. "Save your questions. She will provide answers… _if _she so chooses." Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the way they'd come.

Meetra stared after her, lips pressed together in a grimace, before turning to enter the room properly. She drifted over to one of the chairs and ran a hand over the smooth stone. Marble, judging from the color and feel; sleek, but chill and unyielding. The seat was carved like a bowl and a thick white cushion was placed at the bottom. She gingerly tested its give, her hand sinking deep into the fabric. An uncomfortable chill ran down her spine. The chairs were designed to put those sitting in them in a position of subservience, maybe even reverence to a speaker. A pang of unease mixed with pity ran through her at the thought. Were the sisters as captive as she was right now, in a more sinister fashion?

The heavy thud of a barrier cycling drew Meetra's attention from the chairs, and she lifted her head to see another white-clad figure descending the thin catwalk opposite her. Another woman, bearing little similarity to the sisters. Her hair was also white, but with a faint silvery sheen; far longer than the other women's, it was drawn into a severe bun at the back of her head with two loose strands framing either side of her face. She was taller by at least half a head, closer to Meetra's own height. As the woman neared, the hem of her pale robes ghosting against the catwalk, and her face came into focus, Meetra's breath caught in her throat, heart suddenly squeezed in her chest. The face was more lined, the set of her mouth harder, but the pale blue eyes were as sharp and angry as they had been a decade ago.

Meetra's breath left her in a rush. "Atris."

* * *

Atton watched Meetra leave until she was out of sight, simultaneously hoping she would look back and relieved she didn't catch him staring after her. One of the unburdened sisters gave him a small push, her pike held up as a reminder, and he turned to follow the other down a small sidepath to the left of the hatch, Kreia and the women holding Bao-Dur following.

He jogged a bit to catch up with the sister in front of him. "Where did they go?" She glanced back at him, eyes narrowed. "Look, your sister told her you would keep us safe; I just want the same guarantee for her."

"Our mistress will decide her fate." The woman's voice was cold. "Yours, as well."

It was his turn to narrow his eyes. "That wasn't the deal."

"We do not make deals with murderers."

The air went out of the room. Atton froze, mind racing in a hundred different directions, none of them useful. _They know, how can they know, if they know I'm dead _— He yanked himself out of the spiral and realized the sister was watching him, an odd look almost akin to pity on her face. He forced himself to relax, to breathe evenly. She didn't know; she couldn't know. Still, better safe than sorry. _Add 2. The totals are 12 and 10. Switch the face of the +4/-4 card… _She was still looking at him. "What?"

"Do you _really _know who she is?"

Her emphasis on the word gave him pause. What did he really know about Meetra? She was a Jedi, or, as she claimed, had been, and she had secrets, both of which made her dangerous. His own secrets only made her more so. But she was strong and kind and funny and… Maybe just a different kind of dangerous if he was honest with himself, but one he was finding harder and harder to imagine going without. Atton glanced back at the sister. "She's a good person. More than I can say for most people."

To his surprise, she chuckled, the first outright emotional display he'd seen from any of the sisters, but it was mirthless. "No, you don't." Her smile faded, the piteous look returning. "And for that, I am sorry."

"What does that mean?" He tried to move alongside her, but she waved him back with her pike. "What do you know?"

"I am no historian," she snapped, irritation slipping through the cool facade. "Nor is it my place to reveal another's past. If you want answers, you will have to seek them from her."

"Can't do that if she's dead."

"No." Her gaze hardened. "Though if that is her fate, you will likely share it. We are here." They came to a stop at a large door spanning the corridor. The lead sister cycled it open and gestured for the others to go on ahead.

The room was small, made more so by eight bodies filling the space. On the far side stood a row of powered-down force cages and their control console, and Atton groaned aloud at the sight. "Great, more cells. At this point, we might as well install them in the _Hawk_'s barracks."

"You may continue your complaints from inside," one of the women said pointedly.

The other sister not supporting Bao-Dur moved to Atton's side and reached for his sling. He swatted her hand away, the action almost unconscious, and she paused, an unreadable expression on her face. She reached out again, and this time her caught her hand and turned it away, the motion so smooth it almost didn't look like he gave her wrist a sharp turn as he did so. "Leave it." She gave her hand a small shake, eyes never leaving his, and he saw the flicker of uncertainty in their pale depths. He turned away and stepped into the nearest cage before she could question him.

Kreia entered the cell to his immediate left, her hand folded in the sleeves of her robe, gaze shifting from one doppelganger to the next. None of them met her eyes. The sister Atton had tried to interrogate activated his and Kreia's force cages from the console and then gestured to her other. The four began to leave the room, taking Bao-Dur with them.

"Wait." Atton stepped toward the cage's barrier, leaning away as it crackled warningly. "Where are you taking him?"

"He needs medical attention." The sister's tone made it clear she thought her answer painfully obvious. "Likely he is only concussed, but if it is something more… We do not wish him to suffer. He will be returned when our examination and treatment are complete."

"How long will that take?"

"Longer if you continue to delay us." She turned away, signalling an end to the conversation. The sisters filed out without another word, and the door cycled shut, the heavy thud hanging in the air.

Atton leaned back against the rear panel of the cage with a sigh. "At least they left the heat on." He glanced over at Kreia, who seemed enthralled with the room's structure. "Why even lock us up? They already took our weapons."

"We are leverage, not threats," Kreia murmured, her tone distracted. "Our captors wish Meetra compliant."

"Who are they?" He lifted his gaze, examining the walls with her now. "And what is this place? Some kind of doomsday bunker?"

"In a sense. It is a Jedi academy." Atton glanced sharply at her, but she didn't seem to notice. "Not a proper one — there are no students and these children are not padawans — but it evokes the same impression."

"Why the hell would the Jedi build an academy in the polar region of a dead planet?"

"Academies are hidden from the rest of the galaxy, to keep young Jedi safe and ignorant of the outside world while their masters mold them. What better place can you envision?" There was nothing judgemental in Kreia's matter-of-fact tone, which Atton found almost as chilling. "This place is different still; designed to train Jedi, but occupied by none…" She paused for a long moment, then punctuated the silence with a sudden chuckle. "Of course… How clever, Atris. I should have suspected on our approach…"

Atton eyed her warily as she continued to mutter to herself, but a different unease crept its way up his spine. He was comfortable with Meetra's limited abilities and tolerant of Kreia's eccentricities, but other Jedi might be harder to fool, harder to keep out. Even if Kreia seemed sure there were no others, the old woman was unfamiliar with this place, and even if she was right, who could say there weren't more Jedi on their way there right now. He needed more information. "Who's Atris?"

Kreia's gaze snapped to his with a speed that was almost violent, as if she'd just remembered he was there. She narrowed her eyes, irritation thinning her lips. "None of your concern."

He rolled his eyes to hide his alarm. "Whatever. All I care about is getting the _Hawk _and hitting lightspeed before any more Jedi show up."

Immediately, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Kreia paused, her head tilted just to the side, as if listening to something only she could hear. "You fear the Jedi." It wasn't a question.

"Don't you?" Atton danced away from the implication in her words, careful to keep his tone light. "The last time a bunch of Jedi were in one place, they killed each other. I don't wanna get caught in the middle of that."

"A half-truth." Her gaze was intense, laser-focused on his own. "This fear is deeper, more personal. What do you know of the Jedi?"

Atton's heart hammered in his chest, loud enough that he was sure Kreia could hear it. "Less than you, I'm sure."

"On the contrary, I believe you know much more."

There was no warning before her consciousness slammed into his, her mind splitting his thoughts like a white-hot spike. A cry ripped itself free of Atton's throat, and he sank, knees slamming into the cage floor. He clutched his head, as though he could ward off the probing thoughts tearing into his skull. _Add 5. The totals are 11 and 13. Flip the +2/-2 card _— "Get out of my head!"

"How strange." Kreia's voice was clinical, impassive, as if her search wasn't rending his mind into a million jagged pieces. "I would not expect such strength from you." She pushed deeper, drawing another ragged yell from him. "It will be less painful if you cease struggling. I will find what I seek regardless; your resistance will only cause you further hurt."

"Stop… it…" He forced the words out through gritted teeth, body bowed forward under the weight of her assault. She tore through his barriers as quickly as he erected them, the years of practice utterly wasted in the face of her power. Pain shrank the world to a single point before him, and Atton could _feel _her mind burrowing into his, her thoughts jagged claws that sliced into his mind and pulled out the things he never wanted anyone else to see.

Memories flashed before him as Kreia dug them free of his defenses. _A woman's face leaning over him, a flash of momentary horror before he realized it was Meetra… The same face, bathed in the soft blue glow of hyperspace, exhausted and in pain, but smiling and so beautiful _— Kreia's amusement trickled down through their connection, and Atton wrenched away from the memory, embarrassment briefly superseding the pain. The respite only lasted a few seconds before the old woman renewed her assault, and a scream escaped his clenched jaw. _Another night blackout drunk in the alleys of Nar Shaddaa. Waking up in a strange Togruta's bed, leaving a handful of credits on her nightstand before slipping out to return to the cantina and repeat the last night all over again. It was the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay._

"Ah, and with the fear, there is guilt." She sounded smug. This was a game for her, a challenge to be overcome. His pain, his fears — just rewards for her searching,

Atton forcibly pushed the memory away, and to his surprise, it worked, earning him a few breaths of freedom. "Why… why are you… doing this?" His vision was hazy, the world made blurry by the pain, but he could just make out the dark robes opposite him. "What… do you… want from me?"

"I dislike being at a disadvantage." Kreia resumed her searching, and he collapsed fully to the floor with a whimper, body curling in on itself. "Her, I know. Everything she has done, all she has suffered. You, however, are much more of a mystery than I realized. What have you done to inspire such terror toward the Jedi?" The agony increased, and Atton's vision disappeared entirely as a white-hot curtain fell over the world. "You hide your secrets well behind your feelings — behind the self-loathing and the infatuation — but I will not let you keep them."

Atton feebly struggled against her intrusion, but Kreia brushed him aside. She plunged further into his memories, dredging up the darkest parts of them. _Warm brown eyes, full of pain and fear and, most infuriating, understanding. His face was reflected in them, caught between rage and confusion. Soft bloodied lips formed words he didn't want to remember and could not forget. A shaking hand touched his face, leaving trails of blood along his cheek. His hands closed around a slender neck. _Blessedly, he lost consciousness before the memory could play out in its entirety.

When he came to, the room was silent, save for the crackle of the cages' barriers and his ragged breathing. His lifted his head, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of agony through his skull, and found Kreia watching him. Her mouth twisted in a cruel smile. "Laid bare at last."

"Don't… please don't tell her." The world spun as Atton pushed himself to his knees, and he fought down the bile rising in his throat. "I'm… begging you… She can't know, she'll… "

"What? Hate you?" Her lips quirked into a sneer. "Fear you?" She turned away with a chuckle. "That is not the way of the Jedi. Then again, by her own claim she is not a Jedi. Perhaps your fears are justified."

Atton slumped against the back of his cell. "I'll do whatever you want. Just — just don't tell her." He imagined Meetra's face if she found out, her soft smile twisting in disgust, brilliant eyes darkening with anger. The urge to be sick grew stronger.

Kreia glanced over her shoulder, gaze narrow and calculating. "Calm yourself, Atton. I will conceal your past from her. In truth, it is no different from what I am doing with regards to her secrets." She turned back to him and stepped as close as possible to the forcefield. "But make no mistake, I do not do this out of pity, or affection, or tolerance. If she learns of your transgressions, there is a chance she may turn you away. I would avoid this."

"Why?"

"I do not know, not yet." Her gaze turned inwards. "We found you on Peragus for a reason, even if it is not readily apparent. I refuse to waste any potential placed in our path, even as twisted as yours." Kreia's eyes found his again. "The price for my silence is your obedience."

He gathered enough strength to sneer. "To you?"

"To her. The trials ahead will be difficult, and she will need more help than she knows."

"And if I refuse?"

"You won't." She smirked, and Atton's face warmed. Kreia had viewed Meetra through the lens of his memories; denying his attraction was pointless. "Even if you did, I would no longer be obligated to keep your secrets, and while Meetra may not be a Jedi, Atris most assuredly is. Were I to reveal your past, you would not leave this place alive." She folded her hand in her robes again, suddenly introspective. "I had thought to remove you from her company once we regained the _Ebon Hawk_, but now I believe your absence would be more detrimental to her than your continued presence."

A dry chuckle escaped him. "And here I thought I was only good for flying the ship."

"There is also that." Kreia met his eyes again. "There is something here she needs to see, something of her past she must revisit. It will put her on a dangerous path, and if even something so base as you can avert disaster, then you will stay by her side."

"You've seen my memories, Highness; you've got the wrong guy."

"I do not make mistakes. The Force is clear — you have a purpose that aligns with hers." His vision was still a little blurry, but Atton thought he saw her eyes soften. "Now, I have wasted enough time and energy on you and this discussion, and it will do no one any good for her to find you like this." Her mind ghosted across his again, and Atton flinched, but it was gentle this time, rolling over him like a thick blanket. "Sleep — I must be free of distractions." Against his will, his eyes slid shut and he sank back against the cell wall, his last thoughts of soft blue-gray eyes and a warm smile.

* * *

Atris came to a stop at the end of the catwalk, posture rigid, eyes burning with barely suppressed anger. It was so achingly familiar that it took Meetra's breath. When she spoke, the decade between them melted away. "I had not thought to see you again."

"Nor I you." Meetra's voice left her in a whisper, the words thick in her throat. For a moment, she saw Atris as she had been: stern, but open, her face animated as she described a passage from some long-forgotten tome she'd recently acquired.

Atris scanned her face, gaze lingering at Meetra's eyes. "You look the same. Not as you did on that day, but … as before."

"You look older."

Her eyes narrowed, the thick kohl around their edges intensifying her anger. Before Meetra could explain, she lifted a hand for silence. "Assessment of my appearance aside, why are you here? I would not have thought the exile's path would bring you back to civilized space." She grimaced. "Such as it is."

"I didn't plan it. The Republic found me, said I was summoned to Coruscant." Atris raised an eyebrow, skepticism plain, and Meetra felt the first pinpricks of irritation on the back of her neck. How naive to expect the stiff, strait-laced Jedi to have changed after all these years. "I want to know my friends are alright."

Atris frowned. "What?"

"Your… guards, acolytes, whatever they are, they separated us. Two of them were injured. Where were they taken?"

"My Handmaidens will see you them," Atris said curtly. "But I'm afraid their safety will depend on your answers to my questions."

Meetra clenched her jaw. "Atris— "

"They arrived with you; I will treat them as I would you." Her glare turned haughty as she looked down her nose. "Frankly, you should be locked up with them, but I wish answers. You claim the Republic summoned you. Why, then, are you on Telos?"

Taking a page out of Atton's book, Meetra flashed a tight smirk. "Someone stole my ship."

Atris' lips thinned. She moved closer, stopping just outside the center of the room. "Still so glib. I had hoped exile would help you see the error of your ways, make you realize your actions were foolhardy, but I see you haven't changed."

"I'm not here to talk about the past, Atris." Her voice was suddenly harder, angrier. "I just want my ship so my friends and I can leave."

"Why? So you can go rushing off to insert yourself in another conflict you don't understand?" Atris pointed upward. "You were followed by assassin droids. You brought destruction right to my doorstep."

"They were following the _Ebon Hawk_, so, technically, _you _brought them here when you stole it."

"Why were they tracking your ship?"

"... it's a long story." Meetra crossed her arms, as much for comfort as to appear defiant. "I don't answer to you, Atris, not anymore. I'm no longer a Jedi. You made it clear that I was no longer anything to the Council during the trial… that was nothing to you."

"Do you realize how much your actions pained me?" She took another step forward, in the room's very center now. "You were my friend, my student! I considered you a sister." The old hurt was plain on her face, and some of Meetra's anger dissipated. They were friends once; Atris had been a welcome confidant for things she couldn't talk about with Revan or Malak. "But you followed Revan to war like the rest of her flock."

"She was my friend, too, and neither of us could stand by while innocent people died."

"How many innocents died at Dxun? At Malachor?"

Meetra winced, drawing her arms tighter around her, and met Atris' triumphant look with a glare. "If you want me to admit fault, to take responsibility for those tragedies, I have done so. I returned to accept the Council's punishment. I see the faces of those I sent to death every time I close my eyes!" Her voice rang back at her from the curved walls, and she took a measured breath. "But I will not apologize for doing what the Council would not."

"All we asked was for time to evaluate the decision." Atris shook her head. The pain in her eyes was gone, replaced by anger and, more upsettingly, no small amount of disgust. "The three of you didn't want to help those afflicted by the Mandalorians' assault — you wanted to be heroes, to seek adventure and war, and to have your name spread by many tongues. So, like the children you claimed not to be, you defied us." She closed her eyes, and Meetra couldn't be sure if it was simply out of rage, or if Atris struggled to keep tears at bay. "All of you, so defiant, but Revan and Malak knew how to conceal it behind pretty words and stoicism. With you, it was always clear, always plain for everyone to see. Just as it was during your trial, when you desecrated the stone."

Hot embarrassment flooded Meetra at the memory. It had been a spur of the moment action, one she did regret, but she hadn't been in the best state of mind. Malachor had been less than three months prior, and she'd spent much of that time unconscious, recovering in a ship's medbay. "Atris… I know I shouldn't have…" She trailed off as she realized the other woman wasn't listening, her gaze distant and one hand clenched on an object hidden in the folds of her robes. "Atris?"

"When you left that day, I wanted to forget your words, to forget the defiance in your face… forget the hurt you caused me." Her eyes focused on Meetra again. "But I came to realize that would be a kind of absolution for you. If I let myself forget, there would be one less person to hold you accountable for your crimes. So I made sure I would never forget."

Atris drew the object free with a flourish and activated it. Soft cyan light bathed her as both blades crackled to life, the lightsaber humming as she twirled it between her hands. The motion was hesitant, invisible to anyone who didn't know what to look for, but Meetra knew Atris. She had carried a single-bladed lightsaber, its crystal yellow, not blue. "You recognize it? I have kept it since your trial, a reminder of all you have done and what you have forsaken."

The sight of her old weapon was painful, but it was how Atris spoke, the almost gleeful way she waved the lightsaber in Meetra's face that hurt more. "You have the right. It is the weapon of a Jedi, so it no longer belongs to me."

Her answer only seemed to enrage Atris further. "It is a symbol of your arrogance, your insult to the Order!" She clenched the lightsaber's hilt, knuckles whitening. "Revan and Malak took you and the rest of the fallen Jedi, and they broke you, turned you into tools to feed their addictions to war, and you let them."

A thick, almost suffocating silence filled the room before Meetra answered. "I never realized how little you knew me… or them." The response appeared to stump Atris; her brow furrowed, anger briefly routed, and she kept silent, as if unable to find the words to respond. "We left to _defend _those who couldn't protect themselves, not to just fight the Mandalorians. It wasn't a slight against the Order. They were decimating the Outer Rim, and you know as well as I they wouldn't have stopped there. Every minute we wasted meant they grew stronger, meant another planet fell. We feared that if we waited until the Council made a decision, it would be too late, and not even the Jedi could stop them."

"I don't believe you."

Meetra smiled, small and sad. "And I don't care. I didn't fall, Atris. I came back to face the Council, and I accepted your ruling. I'm not debating that decision." She resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, lest she further irritate her former friend. "I just want my friends released and my ship back. We've wasted enough time here."

Atris snorted. "Because you have somewhere to be? I know you won't return to the Republic; you would have remained on the station. Where are you going?"

Meetra scanned her face, brows lifting when she realized Atris wasn't being sardonic. "You don't know?"

"Know _what_?"

"Do you get galactic transmissions out here?"

"I receive what comes to Citadel Station, yes." She raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going with this?"

"You've heard what happened at to Peragus?"

Atris' eyes darkened. "I should be surprised that you were involved? You really have not changed; destruction still follows in your wake."

"Will you let me finish?" Atris gestured for her to continue. "I was there, but I didn't destroy the station. I was attacked by the Sith, Atris. A Sith _Lord _was leading them."

"... you are serious." She held up a hand to forestall Meetra's retort. "Spare me the wit. Why are they hunting you?"

"They believe I am the last of us, exile or no." Meetra shrugged. "Though it appears they're wrong."

"They are not far off. You and I are indeed the last. There are other… survivors, but they have turned from the Order, cut themselves off from the Force, and gone into hiding." Atris narrowed her eyes again, and Meetra felt her mind reach out. The familiarity was heady; she closed her eyes, leaning into the sensation with a sigh. When Atris abruptly withdrew, it left a cold absence behind. Meetra opened her eyes to find the other woman watching her warily. "They are as I thought you were."

"I was." Atris didn't request clarification; neither did Meetra offer it. "What would make them go to such lengths?"

It was Atris' turn to wrap her arms around herself, absently flicking off the lightsaber as she did so. "We sensed _something _through the Force, but none of us could see a clear picture. Just… cold, a sense of emptiness behind it. Nothing concrete. Then, some of the survivors from the Civil War began to go missing. By the time we noticed, out numbers had thinned considerably." She glanced back to Meetra. "I suspect this is our answer."

"From my experience, they aren't going to stop until we're no longer the last." Meetra took a deep breath and considered how much she might regret her next words. "Let me help. If I can find these survivors and bring them back, we might have a fighting chance."

"After everything you've done, now you wish to help us?" A small chuckle escaped Atris. "You cannot cling to the Order out of fear. Even now, you should — "

"I'm not offering as an Exile, or because I'm afraid," Meetra interrupted. "We _were _friends once, and that still means something to me, even if it no longer does to you. We both need help, Atris, and I'm willing to give it." She made an entreating gesture with one hand. "You need someone who understands tactics. Why do you think Malak recruited me first, when there were many other capable Jedi; Knights, not padawans?"

Atris watched her for a long moment, expression inscrutable, then she broke the silence with a sigh. "I truly am a fool." She ran a hand over her hair, ruffling and then smoothing it in one fluid movement. "Very well, but you'll do neither of us any good here. My Handmaidens will take you to your companions and your ship. Send those you can find to the Enclave ruins on Dantooine. With any luck, we shall have enough to build a Council and conceive a course of action."

Meetra frowned. "Provided history does not repeat itself."

Atris' face hardened. "I am willing to work with you, Meetra; I advise you not to press your luck." She tucked Meetra's lightsaber back into her robes. Meetra followed the motion, but didn't comment on it. She'd hardly expect Atris to return it, and even then, she wasn't sure she wanted it back. It belonged to a different Meetra, one she didn't want to become again. "Now, be on your way. You put us both in more danger the longer you remain here."

Meetra nodded and turned away, heading back the way she'd come. As she reached the door, hand extended to cycle it open, Atris' voice stopped her. "Meetra… do you know where she is?"

She didn't turn, the soft note in the other woman's voice warning her not to lie. "No."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

"Maybe. _After _I'd spoken to her. I have my own questions." Meetra cycled the door. "Goodbye, Atris." She stepped through without waiting for Atris to respond.

Three Handmaidens waited on the other side. Two were the identical copies she'd come to expect; she was only able to identify the one who'd led her here by Chodo's pack hanging off her shoulder. The third Handmaiden was, to Meetra's surprise, noticeably different. She was shorter, her features softer and more rounded than the others'. Her hair was the same snowy white and cut short, but two short braided tendrils hung down on either side of her face, just in front of her ears. Her eyes were larger and an unnerving bright blue, seeming almost to glow under the artificial lighting. She glared up at Meetra, the intensity startling, and ducked through the door into Atris' audience chamber before it closed, leaving Meetra to stare after her.

"Follow us, Exile." Meetra grimaced at the epithet and turned back to the twin Handmaidens. The one with her pack held it out, and she took it and pulled it over her shoulder without a word. The Handmaidens seemed unperturbed, though, and they turned in unison and started off, forcing Meetra to jog after them.

"Can I ask you a few questions?" Neither to to look at her, but they didn't rebuke her, either. "What's your relationship with Atris? Why do you call her 'Mistress?'"

"She is our teacher, our protector and provider," said the Handmaiden to her left. "She gathered us here after the Jedi Civil War and began our training."

"What kind of training?"

Her sister answered. "She wishes us to be a check against the Jedi, should the Order be restored; a warning and a punishment for those who should fall. We are resistant to their abilities, and the battle techniques of our people make us more than a match in physical combat." She glanced back at Meetra. "Perhaps you would care to test our claims?"

Meetra rolled her eyes. "Another time. When you say 'our people,' which do you mean?"

"We are Echani."

"Ah." She had heard of the Echani (their senator was somewhat infamous for his participation in the Mandalorian Wars), but she had never met one in person. "That's why you all look alike."

The left Handmaiden nodded. "We bear our mother's face."

"But the Handmaiden with you, the one who went into Atris' chamber, she looked different." Meetra jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "She isn't your sister, then?"

Both sisters were silent for several moments, and then the one on Meetra's right spoke, her tone frosty enough to lower the temperature by a few degrees. "She _is _our sister." Meetra wisely remained silent for the rest of the journey.

They arrived at a large door, and one of the Handmaidens gestured Meetra forward. "Your companions are within, detained in force cages. You can set them free from the panel. Your ship is in the hangar, which can be accessed from the door within. Our mistress wishes you a safe journey." Meetra's heart lifted, but the next words brought her back to reality. "And she warns you to never return. This is not a place for those who turn their backs on the Order." Before Meetra could respond, the Handmaiden turned and stalked back into the bowels of the fortress.

Her sister, however, lingered at the door. "We have answered your questions, Exile. Might I have the same courtesy?"

Meetra frowned, her head tipped slightly to the side. "Depends on what it is, but ask."

"My question concerns the male who entered with you." When Meetra raised an eyebrow, she corrected herself. "The _human _male. Who is he?"

The inquiry was simple, but that only made Meetra more suspicious. "He's my pilot."

"That's not what I asked, Exile."

"He's a smuggler. I saved him on Peragus, and he saved me when we escaped the facility's explosion. Now, he's my pilot." Meetra stressed the last two words while she struggled to keep the irritation out of her voice. Defending Atton was becoming its own unsavory trial, through no fault of his own. "If you mean, 'do I know his past,' then no, but neither does he know mine. Why?"

"He displayed some knowledge of Echani training."

Meetra stared at her for a moment, then shook her head, a chuckle escaping her. "Atton? Thin, jokey, sorta cute in a scruffy, needs-a-haircut kind of way? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?"

For the first time, the Handmaiden seemed a little rattled, her cheeks faintly pink. "I… do not know about that last part, Exile, but I know what I saw. He conceals it well; had he not made physical contact, I might not have noticed. My assumption is that he likely knows some base forms, perhaps even a few of the advanced techniques."

The sincerity in her voice sobered Meetra. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You have brokered an agreement with our mistress; I would not see you killed before her plans come to fruition." She glanced at the door. "I could not tell you where he learned it — Echani training is taught in several militaries, but it has become popular with mercenary assassins as well. I wish you to be aware of what those you travel with could be hiding." The Handmaiden hesitated for a moment, and then she held her force pike out to Meetra. "A gift. Until you acquire a more suitable weapon." She dipped her head in a shallow bow and stepped away, disappearing after her sister.

Meetra watched her go, then looked down at the pike, rolling it between her fingers. "A 'gift,' huh? Feels more like insurance." She hefted the weapon and spun it from hand to hand to test its weight. Satisfied, she shifted it to one hand and cycled the door.

She saw Kreia first. The old woman was alert in her cell, blind eyes fixed on the door. A sly smile curved her lips when she saw Meetra. "And so you return. I trust you found what you came for."

The wording was strange, and Meetra gave her a guarded look. "And then some." She didn't elaborate, her attention drawn to Atton's prone form in the cell next to Kreia's. "What happened?"

"He was like that when I woke up." Meetra started and turned to find Bao-Dur imprisoned in another cell behind her. He smiled and held up his non-cybernetic hand. "I'm fine, Meetra. A little embarrassed about the long nap, but I'll live."

"I'm glad." She gave him a warm smile, but it faded as she turned back to Kreia. "What happened to Atton?"

"Fear not, your fool merely sleeps." Kreia shrugged. "The journey clearly taxed his fortitude."

"Right." The saccharine note in the old woman's voice raised alarm bells, but Meetra let it go. Leaving Atris' dungeon before she changed her mind was more important, and likely less rage-inducing, than interrogating Kreia. She crossed to the panel and deactivated the force cage barriers. "Bao-Dur, could you help Kreia back to the _Ebon Hawk_? It's through there." She gestured to the door on the opposite side of the room. "We are all weary, and I would hate for anything to happen."

The smugness was gone from Kreia's face, replaced with a flat glare and pursed lips, like she'd been force-fed unripe meilooruns. Meetra feigned ignorance and knelt next to Atton while Bao-Dur gallantly shuffled the old woman out of the room. She shook his good shoulder gently. "Atton? Atton, you need to wake up."

He groaned, lids fluttering a few times before they opened, and he blinked up at her, bleary-eyed. A crooked smile pulled his mouth up on one side. "Heeeey… did we rescue you… " He frowned, squinting. "I swear we were about to rescue you."

She laughed. "Well, it's the thought that counts. Thankfully, I'm not in need of rescuing… this time." She caught his hand in hers and stood, pulling him to his feet. "Are you alright? Kreia said you passed out."

"I, uh, I guess I did. I remember sitting down, but after that… " Atton let out a sheepish laugh and touched the darkening bruise on his cheek. "Guess I took a harder hit than I thought." He flashed another grin to combat her concern. "Look, I'm fine. A little woozy, but no worse for wear." His eyes swept the room, brow furrowing as he realized they were alone. "Where's Kreia?"

"I sent her and Bao-Dur ahead to the ship."

"Oh. Good." Meetra glanced sideways at him, but he didn't elaborate. "So… what's the plan?"

"We're being 'allowed' to leave." She made a face at the word. "I suggest we do so before the offer is rescinded." Meetra squeezed his shoulder and made for the door to the hangar.

Atton caught up with her in the corridor. "What… what happened?"

"I made a deal with their 'mistress.' She believed me about the Sith on Peragus, and she's agreed help." Her jaw tightened. "Provided I can find a handful of frightened Jedi who went to ground and convince them to return to the burnt-out husk of their Academy." She caught sight of his startled expression and managed a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound bitter, but this wasn't really how I imagined my day going."

"You know her."

"I _knew _her, in another life." Meetra sighed, suddenly exhausted. The last twenty-four hours seemed to catch up all at once, and she found herself in desperate need of a nap. "I thought she knew me, too… maybe I _don't _know her, not as well as I thought I did."

Atton shrugged, unsure how to comfort her. "Well… when you think about it, do you ever really know someone? People have different roles, and they wear different hats for each of them. And everyone's got a past. Nobody's one thing for their entire lives, right? If you weren't around for one part, but you are for another, can really know them?" His absent ramblings brought back the Handmaiden's words: _Do you _really _know her?_

The words had a similar effect on Meetra. She glanced sidelong at him, watching his gaze unfocus in thought. When distracted, his features were softer, his eyes sort of sleepy and half-lidded and lips slightly parted. The idea that he knew the battle techniques of a warrior race was hard to believe with his dark hair falling in his eyes. He glanced over and caught her watching, and she forced a smile. "I forgot to ask: how were you planning to rescue me?"

The tops of his ears reddened and a nervous laugh pulled itself from his chest. "Oh, you know. Break out, bust in, fly off into the sunset; the usual." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Honestly, that was about as far as I got."

"Planned to use your Echani training?" Not exactly subtle, but that had never been her forte. Revan had always been able to wheedle information out with a combination of flattery and leading, but she'd never developed the skill.

Atton frowned. "'Echani?' Is that a Jedi word?"

Meetra laughed despite herself. "No. One of the Handmaidens — the women who brought us here — said you used an Echani technique against her. She recognized it because she _is _Echani." She kept her voice light and watched his face closely. "I'm just curious where you learned it."

"Oh. That." He fidgeted, avoiding her gaze, and her heart dropped a little. "I didn't know it was an actual style. I saw some Republic special ops spar on Corellia a few years ago, and I committed a few moves to memory. You'd be surprised how many fights I managed to avoid by pretending I actually know what I'm doing." He dragged a hand through his hair. "Kinda embarrassed she recognized it. She didn't laugh, did she?"

The question was so earnest that Meetra almost believed it. She doubtless would have if she hadn't seen Atton's other abilities firsthand. "No, she didn't; she was just surprised."

"And you thought it worth asking about?"

"It's a useful skill. But so is faking it." She smiled again, the decision made. He was lying to her, but no more than she was to him, and his actions spoke for themselves. "It makes you a valuable asset."

He barked a laugh, the tops of his ears still pink. "I appreciate the flattery, but that's not me. You want someone good at drinking, gambling, pulling off a few trick shots, I'm your guy, but trained fighter? You're better off with Kreia." His grin softened into one of those irresistible smiles. "But… thanks, Meetra."

They fell into a companionable silence, soured only by the lingering knowledge that their partnership was coming to an end. It was really for the best, Meetra knew — Atton hadn't asked to be involved in any of this — but she still felt an emptiness at the thought. He was something she hadn't had in a decade, perhaps even longer if she was honest with herself: a friend. And that was harder to give up than she'd realized.

The corridor widened at its end, expanding out into the wide open space of the hangar. The _Ebon Hawk _sat on the landing pad, the loading ramp already lowered. Next to her, Atton let out a low whistle. "A hunk of junk never looked so beautiful."

"Careful, now. That's my ship you're insulting." He rolled his eyes, prompting a laugh. "So, where are we dropping you?"

Atton frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's like you said back on the station: fighting Sith is a… Jedi's job, even a former one." She fought to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "I can't ask you to come with me, but I can help you get where you want to go. It's the least we can do for your help."

He watched her for a long moment, eyes shifting between hers, and then he glanced away, hand returning to the nape of his neck. "What if, hypothetically, _I _asked if I could come with you."

Meetra stared at him, mouth slightly open. "Why?"

"Look, I've seen you fight — you and the old woman. And the Sith have seen me with you. If, by some highly unlikely chance they find me, I don't like my chances alone." He glanced upward, avoiding her gaze. "I also said we make a good team. So… could you use a pilot with at least one good gun arm?"

"You _want _to stay?"

He grimaced at the incredulity in her tone. "Well, you don't have to sound so pleased about it."

"I am."

His gaze snapped back to her, eyes wide and mouth slack in surprise. "... What?"

"I am. Pleased, I mean." Meetra ran a hand through her hair to cover the awkward pause. "You've had my back since Peragus, without even being asked… I can't imagine doing this without you."

He wasn't sure if it was the genuine delight in her voice and on her face, or the words she used, but the last of Atton's resolve shattered. He'd do anything she asked if she kept smiling at him like that. He looked away, feigning embarrassment in case any of his internal turmoil showed. "You've got a pretty poor imagination then, Jedi."

She swatted his good arm, but there was no malice behind it. "Come on." Atton followed her across the hangar and onto the ship, his eyes lingering on the set of her shoulders. He knew there was a chance he might — well, no, he probably would regret following her, but the alternative seemed worse somehow.

As they entered the garage, a sharp trill started up and T3 rolled up from further in the ship. Meetra knelt as he slowed to a stop in front of her and reached out to pat his head. "It's good to see you, too. I was a little worried Atris might have done something to you." His reply was a long burble punctuated by several sharp chirps, and Meetra frowned. "No, no, it's not your fault, but… if she got the files from your memory core, then she knows we were at Peragus. Why pretend she didn't?"

"A test." She glanced over her shoulder at Atton, who shrugged. "She wanted to make sure you didn't lie. Does that sound like something she'd do?"

Meetra shook her head. "She really hasn't changed." T3 interjected, the speed of his chattering intensifying. "Slow down… you found what?" He repeated himself, and she grinned and gave the droid another pat. "That's brilliant, T3. Can you show me?" He chirruped again and rolled back the way he'd come.

"What'd he find?" Atton asked as they followed the droid through the ship's corridors. Meetra held up a finger and hurried to catch up with T3, leaving him to jog after her.

They found Kreia and Bao-Dur waiting in the _Ebon Hawk_'s main hold, and the Zabrak reached down to place an affectionate hand on T3's head as he rolled past. "Guess the little guy was telling the truth after all. We found him hooked up to a scanner on the way here, and he was adamant he belonged to you."

"Well… sort of. He came with us from Peragus. I don't know who he actually belongs to." T3 trilled loudly. "Right, sorry. Put it up on the console." He rolled forward and slid his scomp link into one of the console's ports. It flickered briefly, then projected a holo of five systems, each with a name beneath it.

Atton squinted at the list. "What are we looking at?"

"When Atris linked T3 up to get at his memory files, she inadvertently gave him access to her records. Including a list of known Jedi survivors." She pointed at the furthest to the left. "That's Telos, and Atris."

"Well, that's Nar Shaddaa." Atton gestured to the middle image. "What a happy coincidence. Looks like a… Zez-Kai Ell is somewhere on the Smuggler's Moon."

"These others are Dantooine, Onderon, and K— " Meetra's voice caught on the last planet. "Korriban. The Jedi are… Vrook Lamar, Kavar, and Lonna Vash." She stared at the names, as if doing so would force them to change. "The rest of the Council…"

"Does that mean anything?"

Bao-Dur's voice startled her, and she glanced away from the names. "Just that it's odd the Council are the only survivors." T3 let out a hesitant burble, and Meetra went cold. "Why would she have that — Wait, how much of it did you find?" His answer was a low whistle. She hesitated, panic digging cold fingers into her heart. Were any answers worth the humiliation, worth the loss of the one person she'd come to rely on? She gripped the edge of the console and forced out the words. "Show me."

* * *

A/N: Work summary has been updated to reflect the new posting schedule, but I decided to get this one out early. New chapters will be posted on Tuesdays around 3pm for the foreseeable future.


	22. Interlude II - Exile

_The Jedi Temple_

_ Coruscant_

_ 3960 BBY — 3 months after the end of the battle of Malachor V_

Even among the glittering skyscrapers and high-rises of the Queen of the Core, the Jedi Temple shone brightly. Meetra gazed out the window of the shuttle, drinking in the graceful lines and sharp planes as they led up to the three central spires jutting into the sky. It wasn't home — that would always be Dantooine — but it was a haven, a welcome respite for any roaming Jedi. Which only added to her mounting dread.

The shuttle circled the western tower as its astromech pilot waited for clearance to land. Beneath her, Meetra could see people streaming in and out of the Temple, too far away to tell if they were Knight, padawan, or Master. Hesitantly, she reached out, stretching her mind down toward theirs… and felt nothing. Not even a void, as though they were blocking her through the Force — just an absence where there should be none. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes, but she blinked them away as the shuttle began its descent. She'd be damned if she let the High Council see her cry.

Part of her was grateful they had given permission to land on the tower's dock instead of forcing her to walk through the front doors. Another part of her knew the Council had allowed it to keep the proceedings secret. The droid pilot they'd sent to transport her supported that theory. God forbid anyone else beat witness to the shell of a Jedi.

Meetra stood as soon as the shuttle's struts touched down on the landing pad. The mid-morning light reflected off the tower and into her face as the loading ramp folded down, forcing her to squint at the tarmac. One hand strayed to the lightsaber hilt dangling at her waist, but she caught herself and pulled it back. A sign of weakness would do no good in front of the Council — while they were unlikely to use it against her, neither would it win her any sympathy. She stepped down onto the tarmac, and the smell of the city hit her: the temple's incense mixed with street food from the alleys and the faint fog of speeder emissions.

Above her, the astromech pilot tweeted from his place atop the shuttle, and Meetra turned to scowl up at him. "Where am I gonna go?" He chattered back, pitch noticeably higher, and then swiveled around before she could respond. Meetra rolled her eyes and turned away, her heart rising in her throat as she closed the distance to the pad's entrance. The door slid open soundlessly, cool air rushing out to ruffle her hair. She breathed a shaky sigh and hesitated, the liminal space yawning like a chasm in front of her, before stepping through.

The door closed behind her, trapping her in a long corridor of suffocating silence. The walls towered over her, and she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Meetra drifted down the hall, the slick floor like molasses beneath her boots. The door to the Council chamber loomed at the end of the corridor. The high ornate panels caught the light filtering in from the windows and filled the far end of the hall with dancing color. She passed through, her robes smattered with the flickering hues, as the doors open slid open.

The High Council chamber was the same as it had been for centuries: a spacious room with a high ceiling and circular in shape. A thin triangular pillar, half again as tall as Meetra, rose from the very center of the floor, twelve high-backed chairs arranged in a circle around it. Only five of the chairs were occupied — it had been several years since the Order had a full Council — and Meetra recognized every face. Vrook Lamar occupied the seat at her far left, his lined face etched in a permanent scowl; in all her twenty-nine years, he'd never looked at her with another expression. Zez-Kai Ell sat beside Vrook, his impressive mustache concealing much of his face, but the unease was clear in his eyes. In the middle, Kavar, and Meetra quickly shifted her gaze, unable to bear the disappointment on her former Master's face. Next was Lonna Vash, by far the most impassive — she and Meetra had met on only a handful of occasions — and at the end, radiating barely suppressed fury, sat Atris, pale blue eyes bright and piercing.

Meetra stepped through the circle, head bowed, and came to a stop at the pillar. The five seated Jedi opposite her watched, silent. When the tension was almost unbearable, Zez-Kai Ell was the first to break it. "I confess, Surik, most of us did not expect you to return." Vrook and Lonna glanced at Kavar, revealing which among them still had some small amount of faith in her.

"The Council summoned me; I came as soon as I was able." Even to her ears, Meetra's voice was flat. Like everything else since she'd lost the Force, the life had gone out of it. Since awakening aboard the _Amberfall _two weeks earlier, her senses were dulled: colors were more muted, sounds and scents less intense.

Her answer prompted an audible scoff from Atris, but the other Masters paid her no mind. Annoyed by their lack of a reaction, she sat back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. "I am most surprised you did not follow your new master. Or did she leave you behind now you have served your usefulness?"

"Atris." Kavar's voice was soft, but commanding. He was the next youngest on the Council, but still some years Atris' senior, and she deferred to him, though her scowl made it clear she would've liked to continue her taunts. Her words were not without effect, either; the idea that Revan and Malak had purposefully left her to face the Council alone was not lost on Meetra. It was one of the few things that broke through the perpetual numb fog she'd been in since waking up.

"Meetra." She glanced up, finding Kavar's deep blue, almost violet eyes. "Why have you really returned?"

The quiet sorrow in his voice threatened to shatter her composure, and Meetra returned her gaze to the floor. "I came to accept the Council's punishment."

"For defying us?" Lonna leaned forward, but there was no judgement; as far as she was concerned, it was merely the reality of past events. "For following Revan and Malak to war?"

"No." A flicker of heat accompanied the defiance in Meetra's voice, and she lifted her gaze to meet Lonna's without waver. "Not for that."

Atris' scowl deepened, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her sleeves. "Of course not." Kavar glared sharply at her, and she settled back again, lips pressed together in a thin line.

Meetra ignored the barb, determined not to give her former friend the satisfaction. "I do not regret leaving to defend the people of the Outer Rim." She faltered, gaze dropping again. "But I have made mistakes along the way."

"That's a word for it." Vrook's disapproval was almost palpable, and, unlike Atris, Kavar made no effort to check the old Jedi's venom. "Do you know the effect you've had on those who remained, of the seeds of insubordination you've sown among the younger generation?" Disgust mingled with his anger now. "Your actions have tainted the Order's reputation throughout the galaxy; we have no way to know when the people will completely trust us again. All because the three of you decided your justice was superior to our decision."

"And I will not apologize for that." Meetra stood straight now, shoulders squared and gaze steady. The anger, the outrage at Vrook's words sustained her, gave her strength she hadn't felt since she awoke. "Those people needed us — _all _of us. But you hid behind excuses, and if we hadn't acted, the Mandalorians would have killed thousands more!" Her voice echoed off the walls, and she abruptly realized how loud she'd become.

Vrook's face was thunderous; Atris, likewise, looked apoplectic, her cheeks and neck reddening with restrained anger. Kavar no longer looked at Meetra, his gaze fixed on the floor at his feet. After a long moment, Zez-Kai took control again. "Regardless of your motivations, the incident at Malachor V cannot be ignored. Some would argue it cannot be forgiven." Atris' head jerked up at this, haughtiness returning with the assumption her fellow Masters agreed with her. "Even now, I feel you do not fully understand the ramifications of your actions… and I fear you never will if you remain a Jedi."

"We have reached a consensus." Lonna settled back and folded her hands primly in her lap. "Meetra Surik: the High Council declares you an Exile, stripped of your rank and standing. You are forbidden from entering or seeking aid at any temple or academy, or from any individual within the Order." She paused, and the barest glimmer of emotion crossed her face. "As you are no longer part of the Order, we require your lightsaber."

The numb fog settled once again, and Meetra unhooked her lightsaber with mechanical practice. _Unfair. _The word cycled through her head on a continuous loop. The whole thing was unfair. She had defied the Council to save people, not to seek fame and glory. Sixteen years of her life, freely given to the people of the Outer Rim, and this was how the Order thanked her? Wasn't it they who preached that a Jedi's life was sacrifice, that their purpose was to serve and defend?

And then there were Revan and Malak: her friends, her comrades and family. She'd followed them willingly, pledged her service to their cause — shouldn't they be standing here with her, facing the same punishment? Instead, they and the rest of the surviving Revanchrist had vanished, leaving behind a shattered planet and a broken Jedi. Had her friendship truly meant so little?

She had never been one for self-pity, and it quickly bloomed to anger, red heat cutting through the curtain of numbness. If the Council wanted to see her as defiant, she would give it to them. Meetra thumbed her lightsaber's controls, the forward blade crackling to life. She had a moment to register the change on the Council's faces — Atris' triumph giving way to alarm, Kavar's disappointment deepening, the rest dropping their disapproving masks to reveal shock — before she plunged the weapon to the hilt in the central pillar. It hung there, the blade's hum still faintly audible within the stone, and Meetra gave it a last look before turning on her heel and striding from the chamber. None of them tried to stop her, not even Atris; she didn't know if she wanted them to or not. The fog was rolling back in, and she wanted to be as far away from the Republic as possible before it settled completely.

Silence reigned in the chamber in the wake of Meetra's departure. Vrook, Zez-Kai, and Lonna traded uneasy looks while Atris was laser-focused on the protruding lightsaber hilt and Kavar's gaze remained on the floor. Lonna laid a cautious hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kavar. I know she wasn't officially your padawan, but this cannot be easy." He reached up to cover her hand with his, but didn't meet her eyes. She squeezed gently. "I did not realize she would feel so… empty. I suppose the rumors are true."

"They are not rumors." Kavar's voice was soft, misery weighing down his words. "I visited her on the _Amberfall_, before she awoke… It was like looking at a corpse. She breathed, her heart beat, but I could not… _cannot _feel her in the Force." He closed his eyes, looking suddenly older. "She is like a stone in the stream now, and my heart breaks for her."

"I do not understand this sentimentality." Atris rose from her chair and crossed to the pillar. She pulled Meetra's lightsaber free and held it out at arm's length, glaring down at the cyan blade before she switched it off. "Everything she did flew in the face of our tenets and traditions, with no regard for our concerns. We have lost nothing of value." Kavar stiffened, and Lonna turned an admonishing eye on Atris, but she ignored it. "She was not strong enough to follow our teachings, and neither was she strong enough to follow Revan." Atris shook her head. "We should not have let her leave. Her influence could spread; before long we may hear that she has rejoined Revan. Or worse, become a martyr to her cause."

"She was your friend, Atris," Zez-Kai pointed out. "They all were."

"I do not count traitors and fallen Jedi among my friends, Master Ell."

"She has not fallen." The other four turned to Vrook in surprise. "Oh, don't look at me like that. It's the truth — she has lost the Force, but I do not sense the taint of the Dark Side on her. Some of us share your feelings toward Revan, Atris, but Surik isn't her."

"She is her dog." The snide remark echoed around the chamber. Even Atris flinched at her own voice, but she continued. "She followed Revan's every command. You cannot be sure her decisions were not influenced by the Dark Side."

"Her actions were influenced by Revan, that I will grant you." Lonna withdrew her hand from Kavar's shoulder and sat back, suddenly introspective. "The question is where did Revan's influence come from?" She glanced across at Zez-Kai. "Part of me fears our teachings hold some of the blame."

Atris scoffed, but Kavar echoed Lonna's words with a slow nod. "We should have told her."

"We already have Revan to deal with, wherever she is. If we'd told her the truth, there's a chance we'd only make another enemy for ourselves." Vrook's voice softened. "We've seen some of her fate, Kavar, as much as the Force will allow. She will survive."

"Which is more than she deserves," Atris interjected. The others ignored her.

"One day, we may be able to explain it to her and help her find a way to heal." Zez-Kai shrugged, out of ignorance rather than malice. "Right now, she is not in a place to understand." Kavar nodded, though it was clear the knowledge was no comfort. "Whatever comes, we must accept the Force's will." The others, even Atris, murmured in agreement, and Kavar lowered his face into his hands.

* * *

_Ebon Hawk_

_Telos_

_3951 BBY - Present Day_

The image of the Council flickered and faded as the recording ended. An oppressive silence fell over the hold, which Atton nervously broke. "What the hell did we just watch?"

"My trial." Meetra's voice was almost inaudible. "The day I was exiled from the Jedi Order." Seeing herself as she'd been and hearing the sentencing delivered so straight-forward by Lonna brought the pain and regret rushing back, nearly as fresh as it was almost a decade ago. She stared down at the surface of the console, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

"I… I didn't know the Jedi had done this to you." Bao-Dur was still watching the air above the console, as if he could will the recording to return. "I'm sorry, General. I should have tried to find you."

"Wait." Atton glanced back and forth between Meetra and Bao-Dur. "You know each other?"

"He served with me in the Mandalorian Wars." She hated how dull her voice sounded, how lethargically the words spilled out of her.

Atton frowned. "Yeah, you and a lot of other Jedi. Why hide that?"

Meetra tried not to flinch at the accusation in his voice. "Because —"

"She is a murderer." Ignoring the alarm her appearance caused, a Handmaiden stepped out of the shadows in the corridor leading to the cargo hold. After a moment, Meetra recognized her: the sister with a different appearance. The Handmaiden shifted her glare down to T3. "And those are my mistress' files you've stolen, little droid." He buzzed sharply, withdrew his scomp link, and rolled behind Meetra's legs. The Handmaiden lifted her gaze. "Well, Exile? Will you tell them, or shall I?"

"How about you start by telling us why the hell you're on our ship?" Atton's hand fluttered toward his waist before settling on the edge of the console close to where Meetra's force pike leaned.

The Handmaiden caught the motion and rolled her eyes. "Your weapons are in the cargo hold, if you wish to retrieve them; I will not stop you. Atris sent me to aid you in retrieving the missing Jedi."

"She sent you to spy on us, you mean," Bao-Dur said, his tone mild, but Meetra read the tension in his posture."

"Believe what you will — my mistress simply wishes you to have the assistance necessary for you to succeed. She told me you have faced a Sith Lord, and you may do so again." Her gaze shifted between each of them. "Are you really in a position to turn down help, whoever offers it?"

"The child has a point." Kreia didn't bother to hide her amusement, despite the Handmaiden's glare. She turned away, waving a hand to indicate she was finished with the conversation. "I tire of this. Should you need me further, I will be in my quarters." Without a backward glance, she disappeared down the corridor leading to the port side dormitory.

The Handmaiden was not distracted by the old woman's exit. "I am not surprised the Exile kept her past from you. How else would she convince you to travel with her?"

"Everybody's got a past," Atton said, shrugging, but there was a new note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Has 'everybody' destroyed a planet? Killed thousands, guilty and innocent alike?" There was a challenge in her gaze, and Atton glanced away. The Handmaiden looked back to Meetra. "Unlike Atris, I am not a historian, and I believe one's past should not be shared by another, but if you do not tell him, Exile, I will. He deserves to know." She cast a sidelong look at Bao-Dur and the space where Kreia had vanished. "He appears to be the only one still in the dark."

The rebuke stung, but not as much as the quick glance Atton turned on her. "What is she talking about? I mean, if it's just that you fought in the Mandalorian Wars, I already guessed that. You don't ha— "

"I was Revan's second-in-command." Meetra saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze on the console. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the face. "I was her tactician."

"The left hand to Malak's right," the Handmaiden interjected.

"They were my friends. They needed me, and I wanted to help, so I…" Meetra trailed off, the words dying on her tongue. Her intentions, good or ill, no longer mattered. "Malachor was my fault. I gave the order."

"And I pulled the trigger." She glanced up to meet Bao-Dur's sorrow-filled gaze. "Part of the blame should lie with me, General. I built the Mass Shadow Generator; I could have sabotaged it, made it so activation would destroy it… but I believed in Revan, too."

"And that is to say nothing of Serroco or Dxun." The Handmaiden's sneer was disturbingly reminiscent of Atris'. "It is interesting, Exile, that you managed to survive all three battles when so many did not." She shifted her gaze to Atton again. "I would caution you against remaining in her company. Those who do so tend to have a short life expectancy."

Bao-Dur crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. "Then why are you staying?"

"Because my mistress has asked me to." The Handmaiden shrugged, as if her answer was an obvious one, and then she turned away, moving back to the corridor from which she had appeared. "I will take the cargo hold, if it is all the same to you, Exile. It is roomy and suitable for my purposes."

Once the tail of her white tunic had vanished around the corridor's turn, Bao-Dur sighed and turned to Meetra, his arms falling to his sides. "General, I… if it's alright, I need some time. All of this has brought up memories I would rather have stayed in the past." He managed a weak smile, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. "If you don't mind, I noticed a workbench in the garage. I think some tinkering would do me good." She nodded wordlessly, and he reached out to touch her arm before leaving. T3 let out a soft hesitant burble at her feet, then he rolled after Bao-Dur, leaving Meetra alone with Atton.

She leaned against the console, waiting for him to move first, to speak or leave, but he did neither. After a few moments, she broke the silence. "I'm sorry." He didn't respond, and she glanced up to see him staring down at the floor, lost in thought. "Atton?"

"What you said, out there —" He gestured back toward the _Ebon Hawk_'s hatch. "— all that about me having your back and you being glad I was staying?" He still hadn't met her eyes. "Did you mean all that?"

She hesitated, unsure of the motivation behind the question. "I did."

He looked up at her now, expression guarded. "You trust me enough to watch your back, but not to stay. Not if you told me the truth."

Meetra sighed and sagged further against the console. "I didn't mean…" She shook her head. "I was scared. What I've done is… unforgivable, and I was afraid that if you knew, if you found out how close I was to Revan and Malak, you'd leave. And I know it's selfish, but I don't want you to."

His face was unreadable. "Why?"

"Because I don't have a lot of —" She broke off, reality crashing in. "I don't have _anyone _I can count on. Not anymore."

Atton rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. "That's not true. I mean, you've got Bao-Dur and Kreia."

"Bao-Dur still sees me as the person I was, and even then, he only saw the chain of command." Meetra closed her eyes. "He never really knew _me_, just General Surik. Kreia sees me as a tool. She may care about my well-being, but I'm afraid it's because of what I can do for her, what I'm capable of." She opened her eyes and looked up at him again. "But you just see me for who I am: Meetra Surik. Not a Jedi, not an Exile; no assumptions. Just… me. And that's something I really need right now."

He was silent for a long moment, watching her face closely, and then he sighed. "Look… I don't care who you were, or what you've done; your past is your own. I trust the person you are… I _like _the person you are. So, you want me to stay, I'm here."

A tired smile illuminated her face. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" She wasn't sure if it was the dim lighting, but the smile he returned hers with seemed sad, but he pointed to her shoulder before she could look again. "Want me to take a look at that?"

Meetra reached up and touched her neck, grimacing at the thick crust of dried blood running from her ear to her collar. "If you don't mind."

"All you have to do is ask." Atton led the way out of the hold, glancing back at her as they went. "Decided on which system we're heading to first?"

She frowned and mulled over the choices. Nar Shaddaa would likely be Atton's first choice, but after the close call on Citadel Station, she'd rather avoid the Exchange for the time being. Onderon was foreign to her; the closest she'd ever been was Dxun, and that wasn't exactly a place she wanted to revisit. Korriban scared her more than Dxun did, which left only one location.

"Dantooine."


	23. Home Again

Meetra felt the heavy thud of the _Ebon Hawk_'s landing beneath her feet as she strode down the corridor from the starboard dormitory. She'd spent most of her time there in the last week since they'd left Telos, due both to her exhaustion and the tension on the ship. The Handmaiden rarely emerged from the cargo hold, but when she did, Atton and Bao-Dur would practically flee the common areas until she returned. Meetra hadn't even seen Kreia since their departure. Every time she'd thought to check in on her, she'd felt an overwhelming unease, perhaps not entirely her own. If the old woman wanted to be left alone, Meetra would respect that.

As she passed through the main hold, she kept her eyes averted from the rust-colored droid standing in the small storage compartment. Discovered shortly after takeoff, Meetra and Atton had wanted to jettison it due to the uncomfortable resemblance to the HK-50s, but T3 wouldn't hear it. Though reluctant, the little droid was adamant they leave the doppelganger where it was, and despite her misgivings, Meetra agreed. It was nonoperational anyway, though T3 suggested it could be restored with replacement parts.

"Thing's the galaxy's most terrifying scarecrow." Atton emerged from the corridor to the cockpit and fell into step beside her, grimace still in place as he looked away from the droid. "Still don't understand why the little trash can wouldn't let us space it."

"He said it's a 'friend,' although he didn't sound entirely confident." Meetra frowned as she recalled T3's explanation. Her Binary was near-fluent, but some of the more complex translations still gave her a little trouble. "'Friend' might be too strong… perhaps 'ally' is closer."

"Oh, so like Kreia. Or the Snow Princess." He made a face. "Droid Kreia. There's a fear I didn't know I had."

"Don't start," Meetra warned, but she returned his grin. "How's your arm?" After much grousing, she'd finally relented and allowed him to remove the sling the day before.

"It's fine. Look —" He lifted the arm and rotated it for proof, though Meetra noticed the full range of motion had not completely returned. "Trust me, this is nothing." Recalling the scars crossing his torso, she knew he was serious, joking tone aside. Atton brought his hand to the back of his neck, a gesture she'd come to associate with discomfort. "So… you've been to Dantooine before, right?"

"I grew up there." She left it at that, and he didn't press. "... but I haven't been back since before my trial." The thought brought back memories, both painful and pleasant, and she shied away from them. It felt like they belonged to a different person now.

Bao-Dur was at the workbench when they entered the garage, T3 at his feet. A new remote droid circled his shoulders and let out a sharp chirp at the sight of them. The Zabrak turned, sharp canines displayed in his welcoming smile. "On your way out to Dantooine, General?"

"Actually, I stopped by to see if you wanted to go with us." Meetra didn't see the sharp glance Atton gave her at the0- last word, or the small smile that tugged at his mouth.

Bao-Dur didn't answer immediately; instead, he glanced back to the mess of circuitry and wiring on the workbench. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd prefer to stay here for now. I had my fill of excitement on Telos." His grin returned. "Besides, there's something I wanted to work on; a surprise initially, but I'm afraid I'll need your help with it after all." He rooted among the pile and produced the lightsaber component Chodo had gifted her. "I hope you don't mind, General — I found it in your bag when I was looking for a medpac. I know your lightsaber was… well, I thought you might want to construct a new one, and I wanted to offer my assistance."

Meetra eyed the cylinder like it was a fanged viper. To have a lightsaber again, to build a new weapon to her specifications — the temptation was strong. But so was her upbringing. "It's a Jedi's weapon, Bao-Dur. I don't…" She struggled to find the words. She didn't want to seem ungrateful for the offer, but she wasn't sure it was a weapon she should, or even could wield again.

"It might make us even more of a target," Atton offered when she fell silent. "I mean, sure, having a lightsaber to wave around would solve a lot of problems, it would also make the Exchange's job a lot easier."

"A fair point." Bao-Dur returned the piece to the workbench, seemingly unperturbed. "However, if you change your mind, my offer still stands, General. The only thing I need are the remaining parts and your expertise."

"I'll think about it," she promised and reached out to squeeze his arm. He laid a hand over hers, mouth turned up in a small smile, before returning to his project. Meetra waved for Atton to follow, and they resumed their walk toward the loading ramp, only to pause when T3 followed, beeping, in their wake. "Meetra knelt to put herself on the droid's level. "You sure? It could be dangerous." His indignant chirp pulled a laugh from her as she stood. "Alright, fair enough. I guess we have a third."

"It's coming withus?" Atton scowled down at T3, who issued a rude buzz in return. "Tin can'll probably get a rock in its treads as soon as we're off the ramp."

"He survived Peragus _and _Atris — I think he can take care of himself." T3 extended his taser and flamethrower attachments and waved them to back up her claims. "I'll take all the help you can offer, T3." He chirped, pleased, and rolled past them toward the loading ramp. Meetra followed, Atton, still grousing, at her heels.

The setting sun hit them full force as they left the ship, and Meetra raised a hand to shield her face while her eyes adjusted. She registered the smell next, and her knees suddenly felt weak. Beneath the ship exhaust floated the thick grassy scent of Dantooine's fields, spiked with the barest hint of lavender. The smell had haunted her dreams since leaving twenty-six years ago, and for a moment, she let herself pretend she never had. The breeze blew another whiff of lavender past her, cutting through the late afternoon heat, and she leaned into it for comfort.

A hand touched her shoulder. "Meetra?" Atton's voice shattered the illusion, and Meetra pulled herself from childhood memories with a heavy sigh. She lowered her hand and opened her eyes to find him watching her with concern. She gave him a reassuring smile, and he hesitantly removed his hand as she turned to look around.

They had landed at a rudimentary dock, one she didn't recognize. It still seemed fairly new; either it didn't see a lot of traffic, or it had been built after Malak's attack on the planet. The dock was little more than a durasteel pad with enough space for two large ships and heavy retaining walls. No other ships occupied the platform, though a few figures ambled across its surface. One of them, a dark haired woman dressed in a yellow and tan uniform and wielding a datapad like a club, approached. "Name?"

Meetra glanced at Atton quickly, but he only offered a shrug. "Ours, or the ship?"

"I couldn't care less what your names are." The woman's attitude was impressively brusque. "I need to make a log of your arrival. _Vessel _name?"

"The _Ebon Hawk_."

The woman snorted. "Yeah, okay. We'll go with that. Wouldn't mention it to the locals, though." She entered the name into the datapad. "What's the purpose of your arrival?"

Meetra shared another glance with Atton and opted to conceal their true intentions. "We're heading to the Jedi Academy."

"More salvagers huh?" Meetra frowned, but the other woman was focused on the datapad. "Well, you gotta follow protocol like the rest. Nobody sets foot in the ruins without Administrator Adare's permission." Finished with the data entry, she turned and pointed at the path leading away from the dock. "Follow that up to Khoonda. Don't get off the path, unless you like finding yourself ass-deep in kath hounds and raiders."

"Wait, wait." The woman scowled at Meetra, her face as severe as the bun on top of her head. "Sorry, I just need a little more information. What's Khoonda?"

"First time on Dantooine?"

"... Sure."

The woman shrugged. "It's as close to city hall as we have around here. It used to be the Matale estate, but the whole family went missing right before the bombardment. The Administrator took advantage of a big empty building and rebuilt it as a new center of government four years ago."

"That's Adare?"

"Yeah, Terena Adare. She was the Agriculture Administrator, y'know, _before_." She grimaced, and Meetra felt strangely guilty. Even though Malak's actions had been his own, she still felt responsible for him and Revan. "Adare was the only government official to survive, and she stepped up in a big way. If not for her, this place would be nothing but raiders and wild animals. Well, more than it is now, anyway." She jerked a thumb toward the path. "Now, no offense, but I've got work that needs doing. You want more information, the Administrator can give it to you." Without waiting for a response, the woman turned away, headed toward the far end of the platform.

"Well, that was pleasant." Atton glanced around the dock, eyeing the farmers and merchants milling about. "So, are we really wasting time with this Adare lady? You know where the Jedi Academy is, right?"

"I'd rather avoid antagonizing the locals, if possible. Besides, she might know where Vrook…" Meetra trailed off as she caught sight of a battered protocol droid stumbling near the entrance to the dock. His exterior was so scratched and pitted that the original color was indiscernible.

Atton glanced at her, then followed her gaze. "I think we've got enough droids for one ship. Maybe one too many." T3 hissed at the insinuation and rolled closer to Meetra.

"No, I… I think I've seen him before."

"Sure you have. They all look the same. Well, maybe not as run-down."

"No, I mean —" Meetra shook her head and broke away, heading for the droid. "Never mind."  
"Meetra." When she didn't turn around, he glanced down at T3 and gestured after her. "Come on."

They caught up with Meetra as she reached the droid. It took him a moment to react to her presence, an indication of extensive sensor damage. "Salutations, ma'am. I welcome you to Dantooine on behalf of Administrator Adare and Khoonda. How may I be of service?"

"Do…" Meetra hesitated, questioning her own judgement. "Do you know me?"

The protocol droid was silent for a moment, and Meetra could practically feel the heat from his memory core as he struggled to process her question. "Apologies. There are many visitors to Khoonda, and I have no memory of the Sith invasion."

She stiffened. "'Sith invasion?'"

He jerked, the light behind his optical sensors flickering. "Resetting… Salutations, ma'am. I welcome you to Dantooine —"

"T3, could I get your help?" The astromech chirped and rolled up next to her while she waited for the protocol droid to finish his greeting. "Were you damaged in Malak's bombing?"

"I believe I was, though I don't recall it." He fidgeted for a moment. "Administrator Adare did her best to find a mechanic, but self-diagnostics still indicate extensive damage to my exterior and memory core."

"We could try to repair you," Meetra offered, including both herself and T3 with a gesture. "At least internally. With your permission, of course."

"Do we have time for this?" Atton muttered behind her, but Meetra ignored him.

The protocol droid glanced nervously between them. "I suppose it couldn't hurt, but I must warn you that Administrator Adare may be displeased if I am further damaged."

"We'll be careful." He turned so she could access the panel on his back. Meetra swung it open, setting the droid to low power before motioning T3 closer. Atton craned his neck to watch them work. "Care to fill me in?"

"I think he's an Enclave droid. If I'm right — T3, wire these circuits together, please — he might know where Vrook is. Or at least, what he's doing here."

"Besides hiding?"

"Vrook's smarter than that." Meetra pulled her hands out of the protocol droid's chassis to give T3 room to solder safely. "Malak may have bombed the surface, but Dantooine was always known for the Academy. The old man wouldn't risk coming here if there wasn't a reason." T3 let out a sharp tweet and slid back. "Thanks, T3." She returned the droid's power to full and closed the panel, waiting until he turned to face her. "Do you know me?"

"Of course." His voice was suddenly enthusiastic. "So good to see you again, Master Jedi."

"Hey!" Meetra glanced up sharply. An old man in farmer's garb approached, his face set in a furious scowl. "What did that droid just call you?" He didn't give her a chance to answer. "It called you a Jedi, didn't it?! I heard it!"

Meetra opened her mouth, scrambling for an excuse, but Atton's hand fell on her shoulder as he stepped between her and the farmer. "Do we look like Jedi?" An easy, lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth and he held his arms out loosely to either side; the very picture of friendly and easy-going to the untrained eye, but Meetra noted the stance gave him easy access to his blasters.

The farmer glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their weapons and lack of armor. "Well, no, but… I _heard _the droid call you Jedi; I know it did."

"Yeah, but look at it." Atton chuckled, and the old man answered with a weak laugh of his own. "Busted old clanker probably mistakes someone for a Jedi every other week. Your Administrator should really consider scrapping it if she can't get it working properly."

"Been saying as much for nearly a year," the farmer agreed with a conspiratorial nod. "Sorry, miss. Jedi are a touchy subject for us locals."

Meetra waved away the apology, grateful for Atton's quick thinking. "It's alright. Is it because of Malak?"

"Partly, him and Revan. But truthfully, it's all of them. If they're not lifting a finger to defend the Outer Rim from invaders, they're turning on each other with innocent folk caught in the middle." He shook his head. "Planet's a sight better without them, maybe even the whole Rim. Anyway, my apologies again. If you all are headed up to Khoonda, best speak with Captain Zherron, as well as the Administrator. Dantooine's not as safe as it used to be." With a last wave, he headed back to the merchant stall he'd stormed away from.

Meetra let out a shaky breath. "Thank you."

Atton nodded, then fixed the Enclave droid with a glare. "That's not going to work again, so let's try to keep the 'J-word' to minimum, huh?"

The droid bobbed his head. "Of course, sir; I do apologize. It's just that it's been so long since I last spoke to a member of the Order. My excitement got away from me."

Disappointment settled over Meetra's shoulders. "Then you haven't spoken to Vrook Lamar."

"No, not since before Malak's attack. I fear I have no knowledge of the whereabouts for any member of the Council."

Atton crossed his arms. "So, what _can _you tell us?"

The droid started to fidget again. "My apologies, but I'm afraid there is actually very little I am permitted to tell you."

"And why is that?"

He turned his optical sensors on Meetra. "My apologies, Master, but you are Meetra Surik. You are listed in my records as one of the… initiates who followed Master Dekari into the Mandalorian Wars. I have been programmed to withhold any information pertaining to the Order since your departure." He bowed his head. "I am sorry, Master; I wish it were not so."

She managed a weak smile. "Me, too, but it's not your fault." Meetra turned and waved for Atton and T3 to follow. "Thank you, all the same."

"Wait, Master Surik." The droid hobbled after them. "Since you mention Master Lamar, I have a file in my records involving you both. I don't know if it will help you, but as it originates before your departure, I can show it to you, if you wish."

Meetra hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, but lower your volume and keep the projection small."

"Of course, Master." The light behind the Enclave droid's optical sensors flickered and then glowed blue as he projected two figures: a marginally younger Vrook, still balding but less lined, and a small, wrinkled, bat-eared alien. The footage was staticy and the sound quality poor, the words cutting in and out.

Vrook's voice came in mid-sentence. "_... nearly broke my padawan's arm! Kavar won't reign her in, no matter how many times I speak to him. You have to step in, Vandar_."

"_Your concern is noted, but she is not your responsibility_." Meetra's heart lurched at the sound of Vandar's voice. The old Jedi had always projected a calmness that put everyone at ease. "_She is headstrong, but —_" A burst of static erased the rest of his words.

"_... is uncontrollable. No student… immune._" Vrook was uncharacteristically animated, shaking his head and throwing up his hands. "_Half of them love her… them want her head! These emotions she engenders… lead them to the Dark Side! If you and Kavar won't… do it myself._" The holorecord flickered and dissolved into static, the droid's sensors returning to their usual yellow.

Atton glanced at Meetra cautiously. "That was about you?" She didn't answer; she didn't have one to give.

The Enclave droid watched her closely, his anxiety clear in the way he rocked from side to side. "Forgive me, Master. I hope I have not offended."

"No, of course not." She forced a smile. "Thank you; it's a good reminder." He nodded hesitantly, then offered a quick half bow before shuffling away. Meetra watched him go, heart heavy, until T3 bumped against her leg with a soft trill. "I'm alright. Thank you, though." She sighed and looked to Atton, found him watching her. "You're right - we're wasting time. Let's go talk to Adare."

Atton fell into step beside her as they headed up the path, T3 rolling along on her other side. Out of the corner of her eye, Meetra caught Atton glance at her, then look away and back again before he spoke. "So… not a lot of love lost between you and this Vrook guy, huh?"

She let out a dry chuckle. "That's one way to put it. Vrook was one of Revan's biggest detractors; those of us who followed her were little better than Sith, as far as he was concerned." Her smile faded. "Part of me wonders if he was right."

"Well, I don't know much about Jedi, but I don't think he was right. About you, at least." She smiled again, a genuine one this time, and he glanced away before she saw the extent of his feelings. "The other Jedi that droid mentioned, though… who was that?"

"Vandar? He was headmaster at the Academy."

"No, the other one it talked about. Who's Master Dekari?"

Meetra tensed, her pleased smile flattening into a thin line. "Her name wasn't always Revan." She quickened her pace, and Atton let her pass him without further comment. The completeness with which she'd shut down was startling, and he worried anything more would drive her further away. T3 swiveled toward him with an uncertain murmur, then sped up to match Meetra's pace.

They continued on in silence — Meetra lost in memory and emotion, Atton unsure how to bring her out of it — until a large tan and white building came into view as they rounded a corner in the path. Though she hadn't recognized the name the dock attendant had used, Meetra found the building familiar. Roughly half the size of the dock, it was squarish in shape, the sides sloping up to meet a tiny landing pad serving as the roof. Much of the outer surface was covered with earth and seeded with Dantooine's thick plains grass, and a wide patio stretched out from the main entrance. Several armed guards, wearing uniforms similar to the dock attendant's, patrolled its borders. A thick cylindrical fixture sat against the main building on the side closest to the path, its rusty exterior contrasting with the white and tan.

Meetra came to a stop at the edge of the path, and Atton took the opportunity to catch up to her. Hesitantly, he attempted to bait her into conversation. "Been here before?"

She shook her head. "Close, but I've never actually been here. Always assumed it belonged to some farmer." T3 burbled softly, and she reached down to pat his head. "You're right, little guy. Let's keep moving." She continued out onto the patio, T3 at her heels, and Atton followed behind them.

One of the guards broke away to intercept them as they approached. "State your business at Khoonda."

"We need to get to Enclave ruins." Meetra tipped her head in the direction of the dock. "An attendant told us we need the Administrator's permission."

"All scavvers need permission to enter the ruins."

"We're not —"

He cut her off with a wave, clearly uninterested. "Go in, take a right, and head straight back. Adare should be in her office." He turned and walked off before she could respond, leaving her to stare after him in befuddled frustration.

"I get the feeling they're a 'helpful' bunch." Atton waved a hand at the guards. "You really think it's worth it to deal with the local color?"

"For now." He raised an eyebrow, and Meetra shook her head. "But if Adare gives us the same brush-off, we're going to the Enclave, permission or not."

Atton grinned. "Sounds good to me."

"Of course it does." Her tone was sardonic, but Meetra flashed a quick smile to show she was only teasing. She led the way into Khoonda, the door sliding open with a soft whoosh. A rush of cool air flowed out, welcoming after the heat. Inside, the foyer was wide, with wood-paneled walls and a clean tiled floor. Several humans, male and female, loitered about the space, all dressed in farmer's or peasant garb. Meetra threaded through them, T3 and Atton trailing closely in her wake, and worked her way over to the right-hand hallway, following it all the way to the office at the end. She paused at the sound of raised voices on the other side of the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open.

A man and a woman, both human, glanced up as the door opened, and both fell silent at the sight of Meetra, Atton, and T3. The woman was the first to react; straightening, she pasted a polite smile on her face and approached with an outstretched hand. "Forgive me, and do come in. Khoonda is always happy to welcome new visitors. I'm Administrator Adare." She shook Meetra's hand once, grip surprisingly firm.

Adare was, in a word, professional. Her posture was straight, but not rigid, suggesting she was comfortable with her position and the power and responsibility that came with it. She was perhaps two decades older than Meetra, dressed in dark formal garb with her hair swept back in a neat updo held in place with two thin intersecting rods. Her face was lined from joy and care equally, stern eyes set deep in their sockets. A design consisting of four small circles, the inner two slightly larger than the outer, was tattooed just above her brow line, giving her a slight ethereal air.

She retrieved a datapad and scrolled through lines of information. "You are the owners of the ship that just landed, yes? The…" She trailed off, her face going suddenly still. "The _Ebon Hawk_."

"That your idea of a karking joke?" growled the man. He straightened from his slouch against the wall, revealing an impressive height and build. He was younger than Adare, roughly Meetra's age; his hair was dark and cropped close, his eyes cold and flinty. Lightweight armor covered his chest and legs, and a blaster rifle was strapped to his right thigh. His hand hovered close to it, and Meetra sensed rather than saw Atton's hands fall to his blasters.

"Captain." Adare's voice was soft, but firm. When the man didn't react, it sharpened. "Zherron. Stand down." He begrudgingly relaxed, but his eyes remained fixed on Meetra. Trusting Adare to keep control over him, she glanced back at Atton, who lifted his hands to show he got the hint. When she turned back, she found Adare watching her with the same guarded expression. "Does that ship really belong to you?"

"No." Adare raised an eyebrow, but stayed quiet. "When we acquired the ship, the only ones onboard were an old woman and this astromech. Whoever owned it is long gone." She glanced back and forth between them. "Why is it such a big deal?"

"Because it's a Jedi ship." Zherron's eyes flicked up and down her, and a small smirk tugged at his mouth. "You don't look much like Revan, though."

The air left Meetra's lungs in a rush. "What?"

"The _Ebon Hawk _was Revan's ship," Adare supplied. "After she returned to the Republic. Though she was no longer calling herself Darth Revan at that point."  
Meetra found it suddenly hard to breathe, like Zherron and Adare's revelations were physical blows to her chest. The _Ebon Hawk_ had been _Revan's_ ship. Had Kreia known? A foolish question; of course she had. Anger bubbled up beneath the disbelief, allowing her to shake free of her stupor, but her reaction hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You knew her." Adare's voice was soft, but the silence had grown so thick it was almost as though she'd shouted. "You're a Jedi."

"No." Meetra's voice came out strangled, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "I mean, yes, I knew her, but no, I'm not a Jedi. I didn't know about the ship, though."

Adare nodded slowly. "Then why are you here, if not on Revan's behalf?"

"We need access to the Enclave's ruins."

"Why?"

"You asked everyone all these questions?" Atton snarked, ignoring Meetra's sharp glare.

"I do if they arrive in a Jedi vessel."

"I need to find someone," Meetra interjected before Atton could dig their hole deeper. "I believe he may have gone to the ruins."

Adare shared a quick glanced with Zherron. "You're here for Vrook Lamar."

"You know Vrook?"

"He's an old friend." Adare sighed, turning over the datapad in her hands. "We've… maintained contact over the years, even after Malak destroyed the Enclave. He arrived a little over a year ago, terrified, but he wouldn't tell me of what." Her face hardened. "An excuse that will not work a second time."

Meetra hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder at Atton. He offered her a half-shrug, which T3 backed up with a quiet warble. Letting out a sigh of her own, she turned back to Adare. "You've heard of Peragus?"

Zherron grunted. "Whole damn system's heard of Peragus."

"We were there." This caught even Zherron's attention. "The station and a Republic warship, the _Harbinger_, were attacked by the Sith."

"The hell does that work?" Zherron blurted, drifting over to stand next to Adare's desk. "Malak's dead."

"Not Malak, or even Revan; they're being led by someone new. A Sith Lord."

"Why destroy Peragus?" Adare bounced the datapad against the palm of her hand, her gaze distant. "An attempt to destabilize the system?"

"Not… exactly." Meetra fidgeted, fingers twining in on each other. "Peragus was an accident. The Sith were trying to kill us… to kill me."

"Why?"

"I… am not a Jedi, Administrator, but that has not always been true." Meetra glanced from her to Zherron and back again. "They're under the impression I still am, that I'm somehow the last person standing between them and galactic dominion." Her shoulders slumped, and a small mirthless laugh escaped her. "I guess, in a way, I am. I'm going to do what I can to stop them, but I need the Council's help. Starting with Vrook."

A heavy silence filled the room. Adare stared down at the datapad without seeing it, and Zherron shifted to sit on the edge of her desk. Meetra knew blindsided when she saw it, and she patiently waited for it to run its course. Zherron recovered first. "Well, Terena, I guess you got what you wanted."

Meetra tipped her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Adare leveled a stern glare at her captain. "A few days ago, Vrook descended into the ruins; he said he was looking for something important, but wouldn't tell me what… I haven't heard from him since. I've requested some of the militia be sent to investigate, but so far, I've been refused."

"Because we've barely got enough men to keep this place covered as it is." Zherron sounded tired; clearly, this was a conversation that had happened more than he cared to have it. "The old Jedi knows that place better than any of us; my men could spend days down there and never see him. Meanwhile, we'd be stretched even thinner here, and if you think the raiders won't take advantage of that, you're a fool. I've offered to send Dopak in —"

She scoffed. "And have your pet mercenary turn around and ransom him to us? No, thank you."

"Then it's lucky we have another option." He turned back to Meetra. "You said you were Jedi. That mean you've been to the Enclave? Before Malak reduced it to so much charred stone, I mean."

"Yes." She left out the full truth; it would only bring more questions than she wanted to answer.

"Then it sounds like we can help each other." Zherron leaned back and raised an eyebrow at Adare. "That work for you, Administrator?"

Adare sighed and shooed him from her desk as she set down the datapad. "I know this is a lot to ask… I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"Meetra Surik. This is Atton Rand, and the astromech is T3-M4."

"Meetra." She tensed, waiting for a spark of recognition, but Adare only nodded. "I'll give you access to the ruins. I'm trusting that what you've told me is true, and I only ask that you send word when you find Vrook."

Meetra nodded. "You have my word, Administrator."

"Very well. I will transmit the permissions to the Enclave security doors." Adare picked up the datapad again. "Go expecting danger. Without the Jedi to keep the peace, Dantooine has become a dangerous place. We've received increasing reports of raiders attacking the remaining farming settlements and the smaller salvager camps, and if you've been to Dantooine before, you'll know about the kath hounds and kinrath. The ruins have their own dangers, as well. A large infestation of laigreks has taken over the lower floors, no doubt unleashed in Malak's bombardment."

Atton frowned. "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but what the hell is a laigrek?"

"Big karking bugs." Zherron chuckled at the face Atton made. "'Bout the size of a kath hound on all six legs, but roughly half your height when they raise up to attack. Strictly carnivorous, and they're not picky about their food source. Some of them even breathe fire."

"Yep, already feeling the regret."

"Look, you're doing us a favor, and I'm not gonna overlook that." He gestured toward the office door. "Supply room's across the hall. Take what you need — within reason. I've gotten reports of those things killing salvagers; I can confirm a few have lost limbs to them. You don't want to walk in there unprepared." Zherron shot a deferential glance at Adare. "As long as that's alright with you, Administrator."

"Of course." She sat the datapad down and extended her hand to Meetra again. "As my captain says, you are doing us a great service, even if it benefits you as well. Whatever you need, we will provide it, if it is in our means." Adare shook her hand again and even offered a genuine smile. "Thank you, Meetra."

"Thank _you_." Meetra initiated a half bow before turning and leaving the office with Atton and T3 close behind. They crossed the hall into the supply room, and Meetra removed a small rucksack from a rack near the door, briefly regretting leaving Chodo's roomier pack aboard the ship. Atton pulled another down for himself and dropped a handful of medpacs in it. Meetra watched him for a moment before he noticed her and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. "If you'd rather go back to the ship, you can."

Atton snorted and scooped extra energy cells into the bag. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You know that's not what I meant. I just don't want to see you get hurt because I asked you to come with me."

"Look, admittedly, I'm not thrilled about the idea of wading through giant bugs to find one old Jedi, especially one that's probably not thrilled to see you. No offense." He picked through some foodstuffs to avoid looking at her. "But I can't just leave you with a rolling scrapheap for backup." T3 whistled sharply at the insult, but Atton ignored him. "If you want me to leave, just say so. Otherwise, you're stuck with me."

She touched his arm, and he froze, suddenly glad he was facing away from her. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get a move-on, huh? The sooner we get this over with, the happier I'll be."

Meetra put her own collection of medpacs in her rucksack, along with a few repair kits for T3's benefit. A handful of dried foods and fresh fruit followed, along with a length of rope and a medium-sized lantern, which she hooked to the belt of her tunic. She swung the rucksack over her shoulders, retrieved her pike, and turned to find Atton, rucksack on his back, waiting for her. She led the way back out of Khoonda, and they headed off in the opposite direction from which they'd initially come. Only a few steps from the edge of the patio, the carefully tended grass sprang up to waist height, the light breeze creating a golden sea as it blew through the plains. Meetra breathed deep and allowed her free hand to trail through the soft rushes as they walked. A long-forgotten memory surfaced: _as a child, more than three decades previous, she raced through the grasses, the tops of the blades almost level with her head. A voice, another girl's, called her name, and she dove into the grass, rolling into a ball to further conceal herself. A boy's shout joined the girl's, and Meetra pressed her hands against her mouth to keep in the giggles that threatened to betray her location. The other children's voices went silent, and she held her breath, listening closely. Suddenly, the girl's face burst through the grass directly in front of her, violet eyes shining against her olive skin, wild black hair escaping from a haphazard tail as she threw her head back and crowed her victory._

"Meetra?"

She started at Atton's voice. "Sorry, what?"

"You okay?"

"... yes, just… Memory is a powerful thing."

He frowned, but didn't press, and gestured to the horizon and the sun sinking below it. "We hiking in the dark?"

"Ah, no, not unless you want to stumble into a pack of kath hounds." Meetra glanced around, then pointed to the rise of a hill in the near distance. "We can make camp there. High ground, lots of visibility; it's as safe a place as any."

"I mean, probably not as safe as Khoonda."

"Well, no, but… after that reception, I'd rather not linger any more than necessary." A ripple of anxiety worked its way down her back. The old farmer's venom and Zherron's aggression at the mere inclination she was a Jedi was genuinely unnerving, but not difficult to understand. One of Dantooine's strongest protectors had turned on them and destroyed a good portion of the planet's surface. Their distrust wasn't unwarranted.

By the time they reached the hill, the sun was only just above the horizon, the soft purples and oranges of evening giving way to indigo twilight, broken only by the manta-esque brith as they sailed through the sky. Meetra flattened a wide circle of grass, T3 rolling along behind her to keep it pressed down, and sat the lantern down in the center. She opened the cover halfway, letting only a soft glow illuminate the circle, and sat down on one side to remove her pack. The crushed grass gave off the thick pungent smell of lavender, and she took a deep soothing breath.

Atton sat down next to her and tossed his rucksack on top of hers. "Wouldn't a fire be more appropriate for camping?"

"Sure, if you want the interest of every kath hound and raider in the vicinity," she teased. "Besides, it's too warm for a fire." With the sun finally down, the temperature was balmy instead of stifling, drawing more childhood memories to the surface. "We'll be fine with this. So, how do you want to split up the watches?" T3 interrupted with a series of chirped notes. "Are you sure? I don't want you to drain your battery." He whistled once, reversed, and rolled to the opposite side of the circle.

Atton watched him go. "What's up?"

"He says he can keep watch. I guess it's not like he needs to sleep."

"Rust bucket might as well make itself useful." T3 issued a rude buzz, pulling a chuckle from Atton. They lapsed into silence again as the sky darkened to inky star-shot black. Atton watched Meetra from the corner of his eye. There was a serenity to her here that he hadn't seen before, a peacefulness born from familiarity. She braided a blade of golden plains grass between her fingers, twisting it around on itself until it formed a small ring. He plucked his own blade and mirrored her movements. "So… what was it like, growing up here?

It took her a moment to answer, as though she had to come out of a trance first. "In some ways, it was no different from anywhere else. A lot of ups and downs, some small heartbreaks here and there," She glanced sideways at him and offered a sheepish smile. "Not what you were asking about, right?"

He shrugged. "Not exactly, but if you don't wanna talk about it…"

"What do you want to know?"

He paused, gauging her sincerity. "Kind of stupid, but that holo the dock droid showed us got me wondering: what's a Jedi childhood like?"

Meetra leaned back, palms flat on the grass to brace her weight. "Short; Jedi don't remain children for long. By the time we were old enough to be selected as padawans, we were trained to fight, with both a lightsaber and the Force. We were defenders; some would call us soldiers… and maybe that was more accurate. I never questioned it until Revan came back." She blinked, surfacing from the brief reverie. "But it wasn't all training. There was a strong sense of family, that all of us belonged here and with each other. Even if we were at each other's throats sometimes."

"That how Vrook felt about you?"

"He wasn't the only one; I know other Knights had their concerns, and not just about me." She curled in on herself, pulling her knees into her chest and resting her chin on them. "The other initiates were always divided when it came to me. Either they wanted to be friends, or they couldn't stand the sight of me. I never found out why, and at the time, I didn't much care. I… I _thought _I had the only friends who mattered."

Atton watched her, weighing his next words carefully. "Revan and Malak, right?"

"And Atris." The ghost of a smile crossed her face, vanishing before he could be certain he'd seen it. "They wouldn't go by Malak and Revan until much later. Back then, they were just Alek and Skye Dekari; my friends, and the closest thing I had to family."

Another memory surfaced: _a night much like this one, warm and clear, the stars stretching out as far as she could see. Skye, her wild mane of dark hair freed from its usual tail, lay in the grass on her right; Alek, newly shaved and tattooed head reflecting the starlight, sat to her left. He tinkered with his lightsaber, adjusting the crystal in its seating. Skye lifted a hand to the sky, indicating a far off point of light with her finger. "That one. I bet it's like Coruscant, but prettier, and the whole world shines like a diamond."_

"_I bet it's a whole planet of bantha dung." Skye threw a clump of plains grass at Alek, eliciting a high-pitched shriek as he yanked his open lightsaber out of its path. "Be careful! I spent weeks on this."_

"_I was aiming for your head."_

"_Good thing Jedi don't use blasters, then; your aim is terrible."_

_Skye scrunched her nose and stuck her tongue out at him. Alek uprooted his own handful of grass and flung it at her, but Meetra caught it with the Force as it passed over her. She held it aloft, allowing the blades to trickle away with the breeze. The three of them watched the grass float away, a rare moment of silence before the good-natured teasing resumed._

Meetra smiled at the memory, but it was bittersweet. The next day, Skye and Alek had left for Coruscant to train with Zhar Lestin, and over the next five years, she'd seen them only sparingly until they finally returned to take her with them. At the time, she felt like she'd never see them again.

"Sounds like you were close." She nodded, and Atton saw a flicker of pain cross her face. He shifted subjects before she shut down again. "What were they like?"

"Like hot and cold," Meetra admitted, a laugh in her voice. "I don't think I've ever seen two people more opposite. Skye was wild and brave, and every initiate loved her. She was top of her class, and strong in both physical combat and the Force. Skye was a river, and Alek was the lake she fed into. He was calm, always thought things through before he acted. He preferred to analyze a situation thoroughly before getting involved. Drove Skye crazy."

"And you?"

"I was… somewhere in the middle. They used me as a mediator, a balance between them." She picked up another blade of grass and slowly shredded it between her fingers. "Like Skye, I was impulsive, but I saw all my options, too. It's why they wanted me to come with them — I was willing to take risks, but I knew how to mitigate them, too." Meetra fell silent as the last bits of grass drifted to the ground. "When we were children, I mostly just kept the peace." The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile. "When they started to argue, I'd always get them to play a game; it was silly, but it distracted them every time."

"What was it?"

"You really want to know?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Sure."

"We'd come out to the plains on nights like this and point out the first planet we'd visit when we became Knights." She tilted her face up to the sky. "They could never remember which ones they picked the previous time, so they'd forget all about the fight while they tried to find them again." She chuckled. "I don't think they ever figured out I was doing it on purpose."

Atton looked up, squinting at the stars. "Which one did you pick?"

Meetra pointed. "That one."

"There?" He pointed to another light several to the right of hers.

"No, here." She scooted closer, leaning over until she was brushing his shoulder with hers and he could feel her warmth against his side. "That one, just there."

"Did you ever go there?"

"No." Her voice was melancholic, longing clinging to every syllable. "I like to think it's an ocean planet with warm beaches, and the locals travel everywhere by boat. Maybe I'll find out one day."

"You're gonna need a pilot." Atton reached over and set the crudely braided ring of grass on her knee. "Cash it in wisely; you only get one."

Meetra laughed and tucked the token carefully into her rucksack. "I'll be sure to save it, then." She shifted away from him, and Atton was careful to mask his disappointment. "We should get some sleep, though. Zherron was right; Vrook could be anywhere in those lower levels; the earlier we head out, the more time we have to look for him." She stretched out in the grass and pulled the pack over for a makeshift pillow. "Good night… and thanks again, for coming with me."

"Of course." He watched her for a long moment before pulling off his jacket, folding it up, and sliding it beneath his head as he lay down. "Good night, Meetra."

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the late chapter! This last week was finals, which is a very busy time for my job. There likely won't be a chapter this Tuesday, either since it's Christmas Eve, and I'll be out of town and away from my PC for the first part of the week (I'll try to have a chapter up before the end of the week, though). For future chapters, my hours are changing at my job, so the day chapters are uploaded will probably get moved to Sunday; I'll know in the next couple of weeks and will update the summary accordingly. Finally, thank you for sticking with this, and for being patient with me. I promise I'm learning as I go!


	24. Things Left Behind

Meetra woke to T3's sharp chirps, and she stretched, allowing herself one last moment of lingering nostalgia before opening her eyes. For the first time in… well, she wasn't entirely sure, but her sleep had been completely dreamless. No memories, not nightmares.

The sun was just creeping above the horizon, but she could already feel the spike in temperature. Dantooine was more or less temperate, but her time on snowy Belsavis and the climate-controlled Citadel Station had evidently made her more sensitive to the heat. Meetra stretched again and pushed herself upright, dusting golden blades from her tunic. T3 burbled again, and she patted his head. "Thank you, T3. How was your watch?"

He chattered once, interjecting an annoyed buzz toward the end, before rolling over to Atton's still sleeping form and repeating his three note chirp. When Atton didn't stir, T3 increased his pitch and rolled forward to lightly bump the smuggler's arm. Without opening his eyes, Atton open-palm swatted one of the droid's struts, and T3 retreated with a wail, his taser attachment extending from his chassis. Meetra stood quickly and put herself between them. "T3, no. It's not worth wasting the charge." The droid buzzed, then retracted the arm and rolled to the opposite side of their camp, his back resolutely facing them.

Meetra sighed and turned to Atton. His eyes were still closed, but one corner of his mouth curved up in a lop-sided smirk. She rolled her eyes and gestured with two fingers, yanking his jacket from under his head and turning away to hide her own grin at his surprised shout. "We should get moving. Still a bit of a walk to the Enclave." Atton grumbled under his breath, but she ignored it, retrieved her rucksack, lantern, and force pike, and moved to stand by T3. After a moment, Atton joined them, a sour look on his face, but jacket and pack both on his shoulders, and Meetra led the way back out into the golden sea.

A light breeze raced through the blades, and their friction filled the air with a soft whisper, a soothing sound Meetra had missed dearly during her time away, both before and after her exile. When she was a child, she'd imagined the rushes mimicked the sound of an ocean surf, and she'd pretended to swim through the "waves," though careful to hide it from Skye and Alek in fear of their teasing. As an adult, she knew better, but as much as she loved the sound of crashing waves, the rustle of the grasslands would always be near and dear to her heart.

As if summoned by her melancholic thoughts, a low mournful howl sounded in the distance, answered by two others further away. Atton stiffened at her side, one hand falling to a blaster, but Meetra shook her head. "They're moving away from us. Sounds like something spooked them."

"And 'they' are?"

"Kath hounds." Meetra held her hand out at roughly waist height. "About this tall, but the horned ones come up to your shoulder." The alarm on his face pulled a laugh from her. "Don't worry; they're usually pretty calm unless you're in their territory. I thought we'd have seen a few by now…" She trailed off, realizing the answer to her own question. The surface of Dantooine may have recovered, at least enough to conceal the scars with thick golden blades, but Malak's bombing had done damage to more than just the planet. Guilt settled over her again. If she'd stayed, even after her exile, could she have stopped them… or would the person she'd been, betrayed and hollow, have joined them in their conquest of the Republic? Part of her was sure she'd never have agreed to help them; a smaller part was glad she'd never had the chance to find out.

The sun climbed in the sky as they waded through the plains grass, the temperature rising with it. Atton had long since stripped his jacket off again and currently walked with it slung over his shoulder. Even Meetra's tunic and leggings were beginning to cling uncomfortably to her skin, but as they crested a hill and the Enclave came into view, she went cold.

Clearly, Malak had focused his efforts on their home. The wide landing pad, which she'd had to clean as a punishment more often than she cared to remember, was cracked and scorched, golden plains grass visible in the broken spaces. The high cylindrical barrier that separated the top level of the Enclave from the outside was split open, leaving the central courtyard and upper levels exposed to the elements. The fountain in the center was still partially intact, but most of it and the surrounding fixtures had been reduced to dust and rubble. The dormitories were similarly destroyed. The only part of the Enclave that appeared to have survived more or less intact was the entrance to the sublevels, protected by the overhang of the conservatory.

T3 rolled up next to Meetra, a sad burble emanating from his chassis. Atton stood to the side, watching her and feeling helpless. The light had gone out of her, and she stared down at the ruins without seeing them. She looked suddenly older, her shoulders heavy with the weight of time and experience. He hesitated, weighing the cost of broaching her silence, but she spoke first, her voice soft and small. "He wouldn't… I can't believe he…" Her voice caught in her throat, and she trailed off rather than force herself to finish either thought.

"But he did, Meetra." She flinched, and Atton hated his own honesty. "The man who did _this _—" He gestured to the remnants of the Enclave. "That wasn't your friend, not the way you remember him."

"He loved his place." Meetra's voice broke on the last word, and she took a deep breath to rein in her emotions. When she spoke again, her tone was more confident. "Alek wanted to protect people; he never would have done _this_. Something… something changed, made _them _change. I just don't know what yet." Atton kept silent. No one wanted to hear that they'd never truly known the people they considered family; his own experiences had taught him that. Meetra exhaled a long breath and tightened her grip on her pike. "C'mon. The sooner we find Vrook, the sooner we can get out of here."

They picked their way down the hill and into the ruins proper, stopping only once to free T3's treads from a particularly deep crevasse in the tarmac. Entry into the courtyard was impossible from the landing pad; the debris blocked all the old paths. Vrook wasn't likely to have forced his way through when the sublevels were readily accessible, so Meetra led the way around. Just before they reached the door, it slid open to emit a group of four panicked people. They scrambled away from the ruins, taking no notice of two strangers and an astromech in their alarm.

"Jorran's still in there!" an older man blurted in between pants. His companions, two younger men and a woman, exchanged looks. "He got separated in the last room… We can't just leave him!"

The woman, a hardened individual, straightened and leveled a glare at the man. He cowered, establishing her as an authority figure. Well, that and the wicked-looking bowcaster she clutched in one hand. "The kath runt should have stayed closer, then. I'm not risking my neck for any fool who falls behind." She glanced between the three men with narrowed eyes. "Which of you has the salvage?"

They avoided her gaze, and the old man spoke to the ground, his voice barely above a whisper. "Jorran had the bag."

"You _karking _morons!" the woman shrieked, and the men flinched from her rage. "You gave _everything _to Jorran, and then let him fall behind?! Our entire haul is in that druk pit!" She turned and spotted Meetra, Atton, and T3, and the fury went out of her, replaced with an unnerving stillness. "Who the hell are you?"

Meetra opened her mouth, but Atton beat her to it. "Salvagers, same as you." He allowed himself a thinly veiled smirk. "Take it you didn't have the best of luck."

"Neither will you if you go in there with that attitude." She sneered. "If you're lucky, you'll die quickly and close to the entrance. That way, we can collect your stuff on our next descent."

Atton raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think the Jedi were one for traps." He glanced at Meetra as he spoke, making it seem nonchalant, but she saw the question in his eyes and gave a minute head shake.

The gruff woman stared at Atton, her companions quietly snickering behind her. "Did you _just_ land here?"

"Well, technically —"

"Look, I'm not usually one to stick my neck out, but since you're probably not going to be around much longer, I'll make an exception." She jerked a thumb at the sublevel door. "We barely made it two rooms in before the laigreks swarmed us. Malak's bombs cracked open a nest down there, and they've been spreading ever since. Jorran's just the latest to get snatched by those things. Along with all our salvage." She glared back at the three men, all of whom refused to meet her eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to deliver the news that these incompetents cost me my pay." The woman flashed a cold smile. "Remember: close to the entrance."

"We'll keep it in mind." Meetra followed Atton's lead and stepped out of the salvagers' path, T3 sticking close to her side. As soon as they were out of earshot, Atton turned back to her. "Zherron may have… underestimated the bug threat."

"Unfortunately, we don't have a choice." Meetra walked over to the sublevel access and pressed the pad next to the door. It slid open, stale air wafting from within. Surprisingly, it was far from dark inside; Adare or Vrook must have found a way to restore the emergency power, if the dim blue lighting was any indication. Meetra thumbed the pike's controls, the translucent rod filling with crackling energy. The weapon held enough charge to knock a full-grown adult on their ass and keep them there for a good bit; hopefully, it was enough to deter a laigrek.

She hesitated, caught in the luminal space between then and now. It felt familiar — the same stone walls and ornate floors — but wrong at the same time, like she was trespassing or walking over a grave. In a way, both were true. Steeling herself, Meetra stepped over the threshold and led the way into the ruins.

The door slid shut behind them, taking the sunlight with it, and she paused to allow her eyes to adjust. The cool air was welcome; the thick layer of dust and grit covering nearly every surface, less so. She could make out the trail left by the salvagers' hasty retreat, their footsteps leading away from one of the rear halls. Meetra tapped Atton's arm and silently indicated the trail. He grimaced, but nodded and drew a blaster. She knelt in front of T3, a finger pressed to her lips, and he flickered the light of his optical sensor once to show his understanding, his own weapons extending from his chassis.

Atton gestured for Meetra to lead the way and followed her down the corridor, walking slightly to her left to keep his line of fire clear. T3 kept close to her other side, his treads almost silent against the Enclave's stone floor. The entire sublevel was silent, lending itself to the grave-like quality Meetra felt earlier and heightening her paranoia. No part of the Enclave had been silent during her childhood, save periods of meditation — it felt unnatural.

She reached the end of the corridor and started to turn the corner, only to jerk back at the sound of insectoid claws skittering along the floor. Her back collided with Atton's chest, and she pressed them both back against the wall as the laigrek ambled down the adjoining hallway. The low emergency lights reflected off its gleaming black carapace, giving it a metallic sheen. It's blood red compound eyes glowed in the gloom and its six legs, each tipped with a curved scythe-like claw, scraped against the stone. The bug was easily knee-high to Meetra; if it decided to attack, it would no doubt reach her chest at its full height. The creature paused, it antennae twitching, and Meetra froze, pike clutched tightly in one hand. She could feel Atton's pulse against her back, echoing the staccato rhythm of her own. After a moment, the laigrek resumed its shuffle down the corridor, vanishing into the gloom at the far end.

Atton blew out a long breath, ruffling the hair near her ear. "That was so much worse than I imagined." Meetra chuckled, the low sound vibrating against his chest. With the distraction of the laigrek removed, he was suddenly aware of her closeness, of the way she still leaned into him. He could smell the lavender from the plains grass clinging to her clothes and hair, and strands from the latter brushed his chin when she turned her head. It was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment when she moved away to continue down the hall in the opposite direction to where the laigrek had gone.

The trail in the dust disturbed by the salvagers' escape continued down the corridor to another intersection, and as they approached, an unnerving chittering started up, growing louder as they moved. Meetra hesitantly peeked around the corner, and the sight turned her stomach. A group of laigreks were huddled around a pile of what could only be described as meat and rags at this point. Their mandibles and front legs were stained red, thick globs of viscous ooze dripping from their mouths every time they raised their heads from the carcass.

Atton made a soft noise of disgust. "I guess we found Jorran."

"Unfortunate, but at least he'll buy us some time." Meetra gestured to the hall across the intersection. "We can go through there and loop around to get behind them. Then —"

T3's high-pitched wail cut her off, and she and Atton whirled to find the droid backpedaling from an angry laigrek. It advanced on him, emitting a sinister hiss. Behind them, Meetra heard the awful chittering dwindle and cease, replaced by answering hisses. Atton drew his other blaster, glancing back and forth. "_Druk_."

Meetra spun around and threw out a hand, using the Force to scatter the feeding laigreks as a bolt from one of Atton's blasters whined over her head. It struck a laigrek in the center of its dark red underbelly as it rose up, and the creature toppled back with an ear-piercing shriek. T3's flamethrower activated with a whoosh, eliciting a similar cry from his laigrek. The others, drawn by the commotion, advanced on Meetra, and more of the bugs emerged from the dim corridors. Twirling her pike, Meetra lunged at the nearest insect, sending it flying backward with a sharp snap of energy.

She plunged into the center of the laigreks, wielding the pike and the Force in turn. One of the creatures reared up in front of her and locked its forelegs over her pike, driving her back with its weight. Atton's pistols sounded again, and the laigrek fell back, thick crimson ichor spraying from its thorax. Meetra pushed it away and spun around to slam a laigrek to the floor as it leapt at her. A burst of fire from T3 briefly separated her from the bugs, forcing the laigreks to scurry out of reach. Meetra dropped into a crouch, pike extended, but the insects continued their retreat, huddling at the edges of the corridors. She frowned, but before she could vocalize her confusion, Atton stepped up next to her and fired another shot after the retreating creatures, clipping one along a rear leg.

"_Stop_!"

Meetra felt the surge in the Force seconds before it hit Atton, flinging him forward with a shout. She reacted without thinking, throwing out a hand, fingers curling in toward her palm, and caught him, pulling his momentum to an abrupt halt. Gingerly, she released her hold and let him drop to the floor before turning to face their attacker.

A young girl stood in the hallway, her own arm outstretched and her face slack with surprise. She was dressed in a dirty cream-colored tunic and leggings beneath a light brown robe with matching flat-heeled boots, and a small section of disheveled pale blonde hair near her ear was twisted into a thin braid. A battered lightsaber hung at her hip, and an overly large laigrek prowled at her side. The girl let her arm fall, eyes still wide with awe and disbelief. "You're a Jedi."

Meetra shook her head. "No." Atton moved to her side, blaster still drawn, but she waved him off. "But you are."

"I was to be." The girl's voice was quiet and wavering. "I am… I was a padawan, but now…" Her face hardened, and the laigrek at her feet let out a soft hiss. "Now, I protect this place and the belongings of the Jedi from those filthy thieves." The laigrek purred, and she reached down to stroke its carapace. "My pets help me, so I can't let you hurt them, even if you are a Jedi."

Even through her tenuous Force connection, Meetra felt the girl's fear and pain, an anger shallowly buried and a layer of guilt beneath. There was something else, too: a coldness Meetra hadn't felt before or since Peragus. The padawan was even less trained than she'd been when she left with Skye and Alek, and she had likely been using her anger to sustain her down here. Meetra approached her, movements slow and readable, her pike held down at her side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Atton reach for her, but she gently turned his hand aside with the Force. "What's your name?"

The girl fidgeted with the hem of her robe. "Kaevee, Master."

Meetra gave her a kind smile. "My name's Meetra; just Meetra. I'm no one's Master." She took another step toward the girl, doing her best to ignore the laigrek coiled around her ankles. "How long have you been down here?"

Kaevee's face scrunched up. "Since the bombs fell. Everyone was shouting, and the sky kept falling…" She shook her head, realizing how childish the description sounded. "My Master brought me to the Matale estate; she said they could keep me safe." Her eyes were wide and haunted. "But the Sith… they burned the house. The whole family was burning, screaming… so I ran, and I hid here. I thought I'd be safe here." She fisted the fabric of her robe again. "I know I should have tried to help, but…"

"It's alright." Meetra reached out and brushed Kaevee's hair back from her face. The girl tensed, but didn't flinch away, and the laigrek remained passive at her feet. "I ran, too." Kaevee's eyes jerked up to hers. "A long time ago. Not a day goes by when I wonder what might have happened if I stayed, if I might have made a difference — I'll never know, but… I doubt it." There was some relief in admitting it. "I did what was best for me, what I had to do. Just like you, and that's nothing to be ashamed of. But you have to forgive yourself; otherwise, it will consume you."

Kaevee's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "But I… I don't know what happened to my friends."

"Me, either. Sometimes it's best you don't find out."

The girl rubbed at her eyes with the heels of both hands. When she met Meetra's gaze again, some of the fire was back in her expression. "If you're not here to 'salvage,' and you say you aren't a Jedi, why are you here?"

"We're looking for someone. You may have seen him: an old Jedi, bald, grumpy expression?"

"You're looking for Master Lamar?"

Meetra raised an eyebrow. "You know Vrook?"

She nodded. "By sight, anyway. He was around often before… He passed through a few days ago. I didn't recognize him at first, so I set my laigreks on him, but he just… _walked _past them. He made them go still, not matter what I told them." Kaevee's gaze fell. "When I saw his face, I hid again. I was ashamed, both because I ran before and because I sent the laigreks to attack him… I was afraid that if he found me he would turn me away, tell me I was a terrible person because of what I've done."

Meetra's heart lurched; that was a fear they shared. "But none of it was _your_ fault, Kaevee. You have nothing to be ashamed of." She squeezed the girl's shoulder and received a weak smile in return. "Can you tell me where Vrook went?"

Kaevee pointed past her, toward the sublevel's depths. "He was headed for the archives… do you know where that is? I can take you, if you don't."

Her eagerness was heartbreakingly familiar. After Skye and Alek's departure, Meetra had acted similarly, attaching herself to Atris in their absence. "I know where it is, but I can't leave you here. This is no place for you."

"If I'm not here, the salvagers will take everything." Kaevee shook her head. "I have to protect it, for when the Jedi return."

"Kaevee…" She signed, a weariness settling over her. This girl had already been through so much, and all Meetra could do was crush her further. "The Jedi are… they are few now, and nothing here will bring them back. Staying here will only pain you further."

"But… where can I go?" For the first time, Kaevee truly sounded her age; her voice was small and lost. "I don't have a Master… how am I supposed to complete my training?"

"I… I'm sorry; I don't have those answers for you." The laigrek at Kaevee's feet hissed, a flicker of fire playing about its mandibles. Meetra ignored it and concentrated on getting through to the girl. "But this is a grave, Kaevee; don't let it be yours, too." She knelt in front of the girl and Kaevee met her gaze through a veil of tears. "You should go back to the Matale Estate. It's been rebuilt, and the people there are working to make it a place of safety. Ask to speak with Administrator Adare, and tell her Meetra Surik sent you. She'll keep you safe." Meetra glances at Kaevee's lightsaber. "I'd keep that hidden, though. The Jedi no longer have the reputation they once did."

Kaevee looked down at the laigrek around her feet. It tipped its head to the side and clacked its mandibles, its compound eyes staring at her. "But… what about my laigreks?"

Atton glances over at Jorran's remains and grimaced. "Kid, I'd be more worried about anybody dumb enough to set foot in this place."

Meetra nodded. "As far as I'm concerned, they can have it. Once we find Vrook, we'll rerun and figure out a place for you."

The girl nodded, then she reached down and patted the laigrek once. It purred and scuttled away, the others vanishing into the dim corridors after it. "I've told the laigreks you're friends, so they won't bother you anymore… I'll wait at the estate." Meetra stood and gently squeezed her shoulder as she passed, but Kaevee stopped abruptly and dug inside her robes for a moment. "This is what the salvagers were trying to take. I was just going to put everything back, but you might be able to use it, or maybe Master Lamar will." She held out a small canvas bag, and Meetra took it, studiously ignoring the not quite dried spatter of blood on one side.

Inside was one fully assembled lightsaber and a handful of components, perhaps enough to build another. Meetra turned the lightsaber over in her hand, but ultimately left it in the bag; it was single-bladed, anyway. She paused as her fingers brushed something cold, and she pulled it out, stiffening at the sight of the small red and gold metal triangle in her palm. "Kaevee… where did you find this?"

She shrugged. "It was down here before I arrived. I heard it calling to me one night, so I went to find it… it sounded lonely, too." Kaevee looked away, fingers tangled in the hem of her robe again. "It taught me how to control the laigreks… and it told me a lot of things, some I never wanted to know. The things it was saying recently… they scared me, so I gave it to one of the laigreks to take far away. The salvagers must have found it." The girl refused to even look at the artifact. "You can keep it; I don't want it anymore."

Meetra closed her fingers around the object, its surface cold enough to sting her skin. Faintly, she heard soft whispers coming from; indistinct words and voices that hovered just beyond her understanding. They tugged at her, invited her to listen closer, to hear and comprehend their secrets. Instead, Meetra shoved the artifact back into the bag and tied it at the neck. "I'll take care of it. Stick to the fields on the way to the estate; you don't want the salvagers to spot you."

"I will." Kaevee managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Meetra." She ducked away down an adjacent corridor and vanished into the gloom.

Meetra slipped her rucksack off her shoulders and stuffed the bag inside, and Atton noticed she took care to push it all the way to the bottom. "What is that thing? Haven't seen you so shaken since that Sith Lord on Peragus."

"It's Sith, too." Meetra pulled the pack back on, situating it so she could no longer feel the object's presence. "It's just a holocron, but that doesn't mean it's not dangerous."

"And a holocron is…"

"It's… a repository of knowledge, used by both the Jedi and Sith. They hold histories, messages… and can be used to teach lessons." Her grip tightened on the rucksack's straps. "They require influence from the Force, Light or Dark side respectively, to open… it couldn't have wished for better prey than a scared and angry padawan."

Atton eyed her pack nervously. "So what is a _Sith _holocron doing in a Jedi Academy?"

"That is a very good question. Most would assume it was dropped during Malak's attack."

"But you don't think so?"

"I know firsthand how hypocritical the Jedi can be." For a moment, Meetra thought she heard the holocron's whispers again; when she listened closer, however, there was nothing. Shaking her head, she led the way deeper into the sublevel, Atton and T3 close behind.

The laigreks continued to skitter about the shadows in the corridors, but true to Kaevee's word, they did not attack or approach, instead sidling away when the group walked by. It made the place feel even more like a tomb; with Kaevee gone, Atton and T3 were the only other sentient beings besides Meetra, a stark contrast to the Enclave of her childhood. It was a lonely realization — the Jedi had seemed so powerful when she was young, even when she didn't agree with them. It was hard to believe only ten years separated their glory from their demise.

Meetra was so lost in thought that the door to the Archives almost took her by surprise. It loomed out of the dimness, a wide slab of thick stone inset with ornate symbols in the language of the ancient Jedi. Despite her lessons, Meetra had never been able to make out more than a few words, but Kavar had told her the writing spoke of knowledge, and the power and burder that came with it. Something she hadn't understood at the time, but it was all too real now. Between herself and the Council members, few remained to carry the teachings of the Jedi.

She reached for the access panel, but found it damaged, the surface scorched from blaster fire. "This doesn't bode well. T3, think you can fix this?" He rolled forward with a chirp and extended his scomp link for a diagnostic. After a moment, he gave an affirmative been and began the repairs.

"I'm grateful the little scrap heap is making itself useful," Atton said, rolling his eyes at T3's offended hiss, "but couldn't you just…" He wiggled his fingers and mimed lifting something.

"I'm flattered, but you overestimate me; that door weighs as much as a small ship." She left out that before Malachor, the action would have been trivial; she'd lacked Skye's talent and Alek's control, but brute strength was something she'd had in spades. For all the pushing and pulling done to the shipping containers on Peragus, it was nothing compared to her former ability. "Catching you was hard enough."

"What are you trying to say?" Meetra rolled her eyes at his mock offense, but she appreciated the joke. Adjusting to her weakened state was hard, but humor helped the transition. In that way, Atton reminded her a little of Skye; when things were at their bleakest, she'd always had a joke or quip at the ready, without fail.

T3 interrupted, tweeting his success, and rolled back to give Meetra access. She depressed the pad, and the heavy Archive door groaned before lurching into motion. It rose slowly, and Meetra moved to one side for cover, Atton taking the other. T3 scuttled behind her, taser extended, but as the door completed its ponderous journey, no blaster fire came from within. Meetra exchanged a look with Atton, and then slipped around the corner into the room.

The Archives were just as she remembered them, minus the thick coat of dust on every surface. A bank of terminals flanked the room on either side, and tall bookshelves lined the curved walls, save five panels directly across from the door. Murals covered each section; some depicted scenes of ancient Jedi, others simply ornate designs. The center panel was the most intricate: a white-haired man with a lined face stood in the center, flanked by a young woman with long green hair on his right and a sinister man with pale skin and red eyes at his left. All three were depicted with an ethereal glow about them, and the faint suggestion of avian wings was etched around the woman's shoulders. The younger man bore a matching set, though his were more bat-like than feathery. A slightly larger than life statue was set at the front of the room. Its features were androgynous, but it was dressed in Jedi robes, a lightsaber clutched in one hand.

The nostalgia was so strong it nearly blinded Meetra to a flicker of movement among the terminals to her left. A tall blonde man rose slowly from among the desks, a blaster rifle clutched in one hand. He wore a loose-fitting blue and brown uniform, one she didn't recognize. The man was young, several years her junior, and what most would call classically handsome: blonde locks swept back from his face, a squared jaw, high cheekbones, and a statuesque nose. His eyes were a bright clear blue, the edges crinkled with fear and anxiety. He dropped the rifle on a desk and held his hands up, palms out. "Please, don't shoot! I'm not a mercenary."

Meetra glanced over her shoulder to find Atton with both blasters drawn. She waved him off, and he holstered the weapons with reluctance. "Well, that makes four of us. Who are you, and why are you here?"

"My name is Mical; I'm an archivist for the Republic, a researcher." He gestured to the room around them, a sheepish smile forming on his lips. "This place… well, it's irresistible for someone like me. So much uncataloged history, left behind after the Jedi fled…" He cleared his throat, realizing he was straying off topic. "I came here to meet with Master Vrook Lamar; I'd heard rumors he'd returned to Dantooine. His knowledge would be invaluable to the Republic's records, and... " He shrugged, his cheeks darkening a little. "I thought he might need help protecting what the Jedi left behind. I'd hoped I could convince him to let the Republic establish a presence here, to keep the ruins safe."

"If the Republic knows he's here, the Sith definitely do," Atton said, and Meetra nodded. He shifted his attention back to Mical. "So, how did that occupation suggestion go?"

"It's not an occupation, it's — nevermind. I never got the chance to ask." His blush deepened. "You see, I hired some of the local… 'color' to guide me through the ruins; they found a path that avoided the laigreks. I had no idea they were looking for Master Lamar."

A cold weight settled in Meetra's stomach. "Where is Vrook now?"

"He managed to cut several of them down, but they took him." Mical pointed behind him, and Meetra noticed three or four bodies partially hidden by the statue's base. "Everything happened so fast… I couldn't — I wasn't able to stop them. They trapped me in here and disabled the panel… which I now realize you must have repaired."

"When did this happen?"

"Perhaps two hours ago? I don't know where the mercenaries took Master Lamar, but I can show you how they…" He trailed off, suddenly suspicious. "Forgive me, but how do you know Master Lamar? Who are _you_, and what do you want with him?"

Meetra Surik, Atton Rand, and T3-M4." Meetra pointed to herself and the others in turn. "Vrook is an old… acquaintance of mine."

Mical's eyes widened. "You're a Jedi, too, then?"

Atton stalked past Meetra, saving her from answering, and crouched next to the bodies of the mercenaries. "You searched these guys yet?"

Mical grimaced. "Of course not. I'm not ghoul."

"Not too bright, either." Atton rifled through one of the mercenaries' pockets and pulled out a cracked datapad. "And neither are these guys. This pad is still receiving communications. They've been hired by the Exchange, and they took the old man to some place called the kinrath caves." He handed the datapad over to Meetra, a crude map displayed on the screen. "Recognize it?"

Meetra nodded. "Different name, but I know it. The mercenaries have probably already contacted the Exchange. Let's go."

"Wait!" Mical scooped up his rifle and hurried after them. "Please, let me help. I failed to stop them before, but I can't let you go alone."

"She's not alone," Atton growled.

"I just meant —"

"It's fine." Meetra ignored the glare Atton shot her way. "I'll take any help I can get, but we have to go now. Where did the mercenaries get in."

"I'll show you." Mical headed down a corridor, and Meetra hurried after him, Atton grumbling behind her. Mical guided them out of the sublevel through a damaged corridor, where one of Malak's bombs had split a weak spot and created a deep crevasse from the surface to the sublevel at the back of the Enclave. Somewhat convenient, at least; Meetra knew a shortcut that would take them to the cave quickly.

She knelt in front of T3. "How do you feel about getting back to Khoonda on your own? Someone has to tell Adare." The little droid hedged for a moment, but eventually answered in the affirmative. "Thank you, T3. Don't take any chances; avoid anyone until you reach Khoonda." He tweeted his understanding and rolled back in the direction they'd come.

Meetra led the way in the opposite direction, parting the golden sea for Mical and Atton behind her. The latter seemed determined to separate the former from her, keeping close behind her as a result. She chalked it up to his natural paranoia as a smuggler; Mical was a stranger, but there was something familiar about him, an eagerness that could only be genuine.

The sun reached its peak as they arrived at the cave. The mouth was deserted, but Meetra kept her guard up. She reached out through the Force, probing the darkness as they approached. Further in, she sensed life, a tight cluster of individuals near the center. Motioning for Atton and Mical to stay close, she led the way into the cave.


End file.
